I 



^ ilJ 



OLD 

HUMPHREY'S 

WALKS IN LONDON 



ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 

'OLD Humphrey's observations" — "addresses"— 

"THOLuH'i3 FOR THE THODGHTFDL," ETC. 



Kecall thy vvaiulering eyes from distant landa^ 
Ami gaze where London's goodly city stands. 



r I F T H EDITION. 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT CARTER &, BROTHERS, 

No. 28 5 BROADAVAY. 



1851. 



HA.:.. 

Ml 






yXHE LIBRARY 
I Of CONGRESS 



WAtBIKGTON 



CONTENTS 



Pag« 
The Tower of London . . . • • . .14 

Saint Paul's Cathedral 27 

London, from the Cupola of St. Paul's , ... 37 

The Zoological Gardens 49 

The National Gallery GO 

The Monument 71 

The Panoramas of Jerusalem and Thebes . . . .81 

The Royal Adelaide Gallery, and the Polytechnic Institution 94 

Westminster Abbey Ill 

The Museum at the India House 121 

The Colosseum 132 

The Model of Palestine, or the Holy Land . . . 145 

The Panoramas of Mont Blanc, Lima, and Lago Maggiore . 153 
Exhibitions. — Miss Lin wood's Needle-work — Dubourg's Me- 
chanical Theatre — Madame Tussaud's Wax-work — Model 

of St. Peter's at Rome 1 68 

Shops, and Shop Windows • • 177 

The Parks 189 

The British Museum 196 



IV CONTENTS. 

Pace 

Chelsea College, and Greenwich Hospital . . , 205 

The Diorama, and Cosmorama ...••« 213 

The Docks 226 

Sir John Soane's Museum 237 

The Cemeteries of London 244 

The Chinese Collection 263 

The River Thames, tte Bridges, and the Thames Tunnel . 273 



PREFACE 



It is possible that in the present work I may, with some readers, 
run the risk of forfeiting a portion of that good opinion which has 
been so kindly and so liberally extended to me. There may be 
those who will think that London sight-seeing is an occupation too 
light-hearted to be indulged in by an old man, and that I might 
have employed myself better in attending to things more pro fitable^ 
and better adapted to m)' years. 

Different people, however, take different views on most suhjecld ; 
and believing, as I do, that habitual cheerfulness is no unfit at- 
tendant on healthy piety ; and having also a strong impression 
that a grateful participation of lawful enjoyment is a better ex- 
pression of thankfulness to the Father of mercies, than a volun- 
tary endurance of unmeaning penances, and useless and unprofit- 
able self-denials ; I have thought it not inconsistent with my years 
and my hopes, to give some account of such places of public in- 
terest in London as may be visited by Christian people in their 
hours of relaxation, without hampering them in their earthly du- 
ties, or hindering them on their way to heaven. 

Though the grey hair is on my head, and the furrows of time 
on my brow, yet have I to be thankful for a light foot, a ready 
hand, a quick eye, and a cheerful heart ; and the possession of 
these blessings, naturally enough, leads me to partake of sunshine, 
rather than to go in quest of shadows. Most peoi)le th nk that 
their trials are at least equal to those of their neighbours and I, 
too, have thought before now that I have had my share. If, how- 



VI PREFACE. 

ever, my mourning has been great, my me cieshave been greater; 
and seldom do I pass an hour of any day without a halleluia on 
my lip or in my heart. No marvel, then, that with these buoyant 
emotions, I should love to go abroad when animate and inanimate 
creation rejoices ; when mankind, in a proper and grateful spirit, 
keep holiday ; and when " the mountains break forth into singing, 
and the trees of the field clap their hands," 

In collecting into one volume my scattered papers on the sights 
of London, and in adding to them such further information as they 
appeared to require, I hope not to dissipate the minds of my 
readers, but, on the contrary, to interest and instruct them. There 
are some who know less of the things on which I have treated 
than myself, though many may know more : at any rate, I have 
persuaded myself that the cheerful gossip and graver remarks of a 
friendly old man, on subjects interesting in themselves, will not be 
altogether unwelcome. 

To such of my readers as estimate books only in the proportion 
in which they are likely to do good, I trust it will appear that I 
have not sought to give pleasure unaccompanied with profit, but 
so connected my walks in London with 'hat " city which hath 
foundations," that those who are informed as to the one, shall not 
be altogether unmindful of the other. 

Old Humphrey. 



WALKS IN LONDON 



ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 
OLD HUMPHREY'S 

CITY GRATIFICATION,S. 

Before I notice the sights of London and the neigh- 
bourhood, let me point out a few things which are to me 
sources of gratification. Wrong me not. however, by 
supposing me to be an idle lounger, an indolent stroller 
in public places. Sight-seeing may be useful as an 
occasional recreation, though it would be profitless as a 
regular emplo\Tnent. 

In the busiest life there are seasons of leisure, even 
in the six days appointed us in which to labor and do all 
that we have to do, anc' T think it no evil, wherever 1 
am, in town or country to seek out innocent sources of 
enjoyments. 

I like to pick up scraps of conversation as I pass 
my fellow pilgrims in the world, whether at St. Giles's 
or St. James's: to notice peculiarities in form, dress, 
demeanour, language, or action : to muse on the shrewd- 
ness of one man, the oddness of another, the churlishness 
of a third, and the kindness of a fourth : the Jew with 
his old clothes ; the Mohammedan with his box of rhu- 



8 OLD HUMPHREY'S 

barb; the whining- beggar, dct'ended by his matches 
from the interference of the poHce ; the fish-woman at 
Billingsgate ; the merchant on 'Change, and the Lord 
Mayor in his state carriage — all call forth the specula- 
tions of Old Humphrey. 

I like to look in the shop windows, for many of them 
supply food for profitable speculation. I like to pause 
as the plumed hearse and mourning coaches, drawn by 
black horses arching their proud necks and lifting their 
feet high, slowly move among the crowded and busy 
streets, emphatically proclaiming to the passers by, 
'• Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full 
of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut 
down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not," 
Job xiv. 1, 2. 

I like to look on etchings, drawings, engravings, and 
pictures, and am oftentimes spell-bound by their in- 
fluence, feeling regret that I cannot thank those who 
have so much contributed to my gratification. I like 
to glance, if it be only at the title-page, on the works 
of authors that I believe to be in heaven, claiming kin- 
dred with them even there, knowing them, loving them, 
and longing to be like them. How many a kindred 
spirit, by the record it has left behind it, has made my 
heart beat and my pulse play, and called forth my admi- 
ration, joy, and thankfulness, hundreds of years after its 
translation to glory ! 

I like to linger at the well-supplied stalls of second- 
hand books, and ^o turn over the leaves of the volumes 
exposed for sak rom the twopenny box of all sorts at 
the door, to thf shelf of folios inside the shop. I like 
to glide slowly with the living stream along Cheapside, 
noting the passers by, and reading their history in their 



CITY GRATIFICATIONS. 9 

eyes, faces, and appearance. Twenty men did I sec 
there in procession last week, every one bearing a broad, 
heavy board on his shoulder, placarded with the name 
of a London Journal, and some of them tottered beneath 
their burdens. Oh, what a tale did their haggard cheeks, 
their sickly frames, and their ragged raiment make 
known ! Poverty, and perhaps, thoughtlessness, in- 
discretion, and crime, had made them what they were. 

I like to stand opposite Christ's Hospital, and look 
through the double row of iron palisades at the boys 
when they are at play in the court-yard. If it were 
possible to make a good-looking boy appear ugly, by 
dressing him up in uncouth clothing, the blue gown, 
yellow petticoat and stockings, and buckle-gartcr-like 
girdle of the Christ's Hospital costume would undoubt- 
edly do it: but, in spite of their dress, the light-hearted, 
merry-making young rogues find their way into my 
heart. I remember that I once was a boy, and when 
they knuckle down at ring-taw, leap the skipping rope, 
trundle the hoop, and race after one another, I feel that 
I could join them at their sport. It was but yesterday 
that I stood looking at them for ten minutes, after- 
wards giving them in silence my parting blessing. 

I like, when I feel strong, though some would re- 
gard it as an arduous undertaking for an old man, to 
ascend to the golden gallery of St. Paul's Cathedral, 
and look upon London below. The incessant rumble 
of busy life reaches me as an echo of things remote, and 
my brother emmets beneath me, by their diminished 
stature make me feel little in my own eyes. London, 
the treasure-house of the earth for wealth and power, as 
the queen of nations, stretches the sceptre of her in- 
fluence over the east and west, the north and the south. 



10 OLD Humphrey's 

She is, as it were, the big heart of the breathing world, 
animating through the peopled avenues of society the 
industry, the knowledge, and the piety of the uttermost 
parts of the earth. 

I like, now and then, to visit a Christian friend, w^alk- 
ing abroad betimes, and breakfasting with him in his 
quiet and retired habitation in the suburbs of the city. 
The early hour, and the walk, and the fresh air, give 
me an appetite, and the broiled ham or bacon that forms 
a part of the hospitable meal, relishes all the better for 
the free and cheerful converse that prevails. I like to 
hear him, with a soft, musical voice, read the Holy 
Scriptures, explain, illustrate, and apply with faithful- 
ness, knowledge, and simplicity, the word of the Most 
High, and engage in supplication and thanksgivings to 
the Giver of all our mercies. T like to walk abroad 
with him in the fields or retired lanes, discoursing freely, 
as the case may be, of the heavens, the earth, and the 
varied objects of creation, indulging in literary projects, 
and fixing, perhaps, on a subject for the next paper of 
Old Humphrey. 

I like to pass along Newgate-Street, or elsewhere, 
when a throng of poor women, girls, and boys, stand 
with their jugs and cups, their basins and platters, op- 
posite to an eating-house, waiting with their two-pences 
to receive the broken victuals of the establishment. It 
would do you good, if you have never seen this daily 
exhibition, to gaze upon it ; and if you have a kind 
heart, and two-pence in your pocket, 1 feel quite sure, 
that in such a case, some poor widow, or pale-faced girl, 
with her crockery in her hand, will soon have your 
money. What a comfortable thing it is, that one can 
buy such a substantial gratification, as that of lighting 



CITY GRATIFICATIONS. 11 

up llie eye, and gladdening the heart of the poor, at the 
low price of two-pence ! 

I like to stand among the gathered group of mer- 
chants and foreigners on 'Change, just long enough 
for the rolling din of mingled voices and varied lan- 
guages to make me estimate more highly quietude and 
peace. I like, now and then, to peep at the Parks, and 
Kensington Gardens, commenting, not ill-naturedly, on 
the gay equipages and well-dressed people assembled. 
I like to lean over London Bridge, gazing on the steam- 
boats as they come and go, and on the forest of masts 
that rises from the bed of the river. And I like to 
pause in Smithfield, ere I go by the spot where the 
martyr has " played the man in the fire." May I never 
pass the place without more than common thankfulness 
to the Father of mercies in sparing me the torment that 
better men have endured ! 

1 like to visit the Cemeteries around the city, and bend 
over the resting places of the dead : there may the liv- 
ing learn lessons of humility. I like to wander through 
the Zoological Gardens, and to fancy the different birds, 
beasts, and reptiles at liberty in the places they frequent- 
ed before they were caught and caged : the white bear 
on his icebergs ; the wolf amid the northern snow ; the 
lion in the desert sand ; the tiger in the jungle ; the 
orang-outang in the Avoods ; the pelican in the wilder- 
ness ; the raUle-snake in the thick tangled brushwood ; 
and the crocodile basking on the sedgy banks of the 
Nile. How infinitely varied are the works of God I 
low wonderful are the creatures formed by the hand 
of the Almighty ! 

I like to examine the new and useful inventions 
at the Royal Adelaide Gallery, anc^ the Polytechnic 



12 OLD Humphrey's 

Institution ; to hear the lectures ; to gaze on the re- 
vealed wonders of the microscope ; to look at the life- 
rafts and fire-escapes among the models ; to receive a 
shock from the electrical eel ; and to go down in the 
diving-bell with a friend who is too fearful to descend 
alone. I like to roam amid the gathered stores of the 
British Museum, from the gilt idol to the Elgin mar- 
bles, and from the mummies to the manuscripts ; to sit 
in the reading-room with an interesting volume before 
me, now and then stealing a glance at the authors, ar- 
tists, and reading world around. I like to visit the In- 
dia House, and muse on its oriental stores, from the 
ivory-carved hanging gardens, to the skull of the Batta 
chief: from the hieroglyphic brick of Babylon to the 
manuscript dreams of Tippoo Saib, though written in 
language that I cannot understand. 

I like to visit the Abbey of Westminster, and to give 
way to the solemn thoughts the place inspires. The 
question of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of erecting, 
in a temple of Christian worship such gorgeous com- 
memorations of the departed dead, I leave others to de- 
cide ; for I am no splitter of hairs, no decider of 
disputed points, no authority in doubtful doctrines, but 
a simple-minded old man, well content to keep to what 
is plain and practical, and to leave to those who are wiser 
than myself all things which are too hard for me. I 
like to muse over the dust of good men, and to ponder, 
though with diminished interest, over the ashes of the 
merely great ; and if the shrill voices of the youthful 
choir, and the thrilling swell of the harmonious organ, 
reverberate from the sculptu ed roof and monumental 
walls, I am carried in my spirit to a heavenly temple, 



CITY GRATIFICATIONS. 13 

where angels join in the hallehijahs of pardoned sin- 
iiers, setting forth the praises of the Redeemer. 

I like to steal into a puhlic meeting called for a 
Christian or benevolent purpose, ensconcing myself 
where from my hiding place I can see and hear all 
that passes. I like to look right and left on the beam- 
ing faces of the assembled multitude — to hear the re- 
marks, the wisdom, and experience of age, and to drink 
m the impassioned appeals and stormy eloquence of 
more youthful hearts. I like, on such occasions, to 
feel my bosom beating, and my pulse playing, and to 
indulge in an ejaculation to the Father of mercies that 
every foot present may be quickened, every hand 
strengthened, and every heart enlarged, in promoting 
the glory of God, and the welfare of mankind. 

I like to sip my coffee in a quiet coflee-house, to 
glance over the newspapers of the day, and the periodicals 
of the month, to admire the talents of the gifted, to add 
to my slender stock of information, and to muse, in a kind- 
ly spirit, on men and things. 

I like to hear the sound of the " church-going bell" 
on the sabbath morn ; to walk in peace to the sanctuary, 
noticing as I pass along my fellow pilgrims bound on the 
same errand — to render thanks to God " for the jrreat 
benefits received at his hands, to hear his most holy 
word, and to ask those things which are requisite and 
necessary as well for the body as the soul." I like to 
listen to the faithful exhortation of an enlightened, 
zealous, and humble-minded minister of the gospel. 
These things I like, as well as to join in the triumphant 
chorus of a thousand tongues. 

"Ye know the Loril our Hod is good; 
ilis mercy in Tor ever sure : 

2 



14 THE TOWER OP LONDON. 



" His praise at all times firmly stood, 
And shall from age to age endure." 



Thus might I proceed till I had exhausted your pa- 
tience, and still leave untold many things that afford me 
satisfaction. Whatever may be our several tastes and 
feelings, if our hearts are under a right influence, we 
shall try to profit by all things, as the bee gathers honey 
from every flower. A fit season it is, after we have 
mused on the varied objects of pleasure which God's 
providence has scattered in our pathway, to ponder on 
his goodness and grace as made known in his holy 
word. Well will it be for us all to accustom ourselves 
to associate in our inmost thoughts, life with death, time 
with eternity, and earth with heaven. 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

Though I have tramped three or four miles without 
halting — a tolerable breathing bout for an old man — 
yet do I feel as fresh as when I first started. Surely 
if any human being beneath the stars has reason to sing 
of mercy it is Old Humphrey. 

I am standing for a moment at the entrance of the 
Tower, before I pass over the bridge, looking at the 
broad moat that surrounds the place, and regarding the 
huge superannuated pile that never smiled, and that 
now frowns as darkly as ever. Famous as a fortress, 
a palace, and a prison, it cannot be regarded without in- 
terest. Time has been when such a scene would have 
called up all the romance and chivalrous feelings of my 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 15 

youthful days. The pageantry of olden times, with 
armed knights and courtly dames, the joust, the tourna- 
ment, the banquet, the midnight revel, and the festive 
dance, would have flitted before me: but years that 
bleach the hair sober the heart ; my pulse is tranquil 
now. 

Had this place always been the stronghold of lawful 
authority ; had power never exercised oppression with- 
in its walls ; and had none but the guilty been fettered 
in its gloomy dungeons, I should gaze around me with 
more pleasure than I now feel ; but the records of time 
have handed down to us much that cannot be justified 
I love loyalty and lawful authority, but I abhor oppres- 
sion. 

As the goodly apparel, the towering plume, the 
prancing war-horse, the flaunting banner, and the blast 
of the trumpet, close the eye and the ear to the horrors 
and iniquities of war, so proud palaces and embattled 
towers often hide from us, in a double sense, the evil 
deeds that have been done within them. As I stand, 
thus noting down my passing thoughts, shadowy reflec- 
tions are stealing over my mind. The White Tower 
there, had it a tongue, could tell me a fearful tale ! 
How often has Bell Tower rung out its alarms, in sea- 
sons of turbulence and strife. Beauchamp's Tower is 
associated with deeds of oppression and cruelty ; and 
Devilin's Tower, near the corner, is not unstained with 
blood. There is a taint in the moral atmosphere of the 
place. On the hill yonder stood the scaflbld, whence 
many a head, severed by the hand of the executioner, 
rolled to the ground ; but more of these thinj^s by-and- 
by. Were human crimes made visible, and did they 
occupy a space equa to their enormity, I much fear 



16 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

that a moimtainous mass of depravity and sin would 
overwhelm the shadowy pile that now stands before me. 
The youn^, the beautiful, the patriotic, the learned, and 
the pious, have been immured within its dreary walls, 
and a rigorous captivity has been followed by a cruel 
death. 

When we think on the multiplied transgressions of 
mankind, well may we exclaim, " Lord, what is man, 
that thou art mindful of him ? and the son of man, that 
thou visitest him ?" Psa. viii. 4. 

The Tower, we read, was founded by William the 
Conqueror ; carried on by his son Rufus ; repaired by 
Thomas a Bccket ; enlarged by Longchamp, bishop 
of Ely ; and iSnished by Henry in. Edward rv., 
Richard iii., and Henry viii., made some additions and 
repairs. The first governor of thic fortress, in the time 
of William the Conqueror, was Geoffry de Mande- 
ville, who laid out much money on the building, and 
the present governor is Arthur, duke of Wellington. 

There is a misshapen irregularity, a strange ming- 
ling of ancient and modern times ; an anomalous jumb- 
ling together of things wont to be kept separate, about 
the Tower, that takes away the impression which a 
castle or fortress usually makes on the mind. It is a 
confused heap, made up of towers of stone, brick, and 
cement, of houses, bastions, batteries, and turrets, of walls, 
sentinels, chimney-pots, and vanes : — but 1 will enter 
the place. 

The Tower was not always so easy of access ; for 
power is jealous, and oppression and cruelty, which 
have at times resided there, are watchful, if not fearful. 
Four gates have I passed, and the warders and armed 
sentinels have let me proceed without a ch illenge ; but 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 17 

in olden times the drawbridge to the Tower was always 
raised, and the hug-e, unwieldy gates were always 
closed. 

. Traitors' Gate looks gloomy ; but if so to me, how 
much more so must it have appeared to the many who 
have passed under that low-browed arch, with almost 
the certainty that they would never again return ! There 
is a loneliness, a disconsolateness in the dash of the wa- 
ter, as the tide rolls in, that makes one melancholy. A 
sluice beneath the Traitors' Gate supplies the broad, 
deep moat with water from the river. 

And this is Wakefield Tower, or the Bloody Tower ! 
Whether Richard in., called Crookback, really did 
cause to be murdered in this tower the children, Edward 
V. and the duke of York, will perhaps only be revealed, 
when the secrets of all hearts will be made known. 
Either he has been sadly maligned, or a sore catalogue 
of evil deeds has been truly laid to his charge. 

What a noble gateway is here ! The groined arches 
that vault the portal, the grotesque heads, and finely 
carved tracery that springs from them, are exquisitely 
beautiful. Here is a portcullis, too, with its spikes of 
iron, and the massy gates have enormous hinges ; one 
of them is broken. There have evidently been two 
hinges at the bottom of the gates, but they are gone, 
though the pins on which they turned are remaining 
still. 

The platform and the row of lofty trees to the leil, 
offer some attractions to those who have time to prome- 
nade. I have mounted the stone steps, gazed on the 
shipping in the river, walked in part round the Tower, 
passed by the Devil's Battery, the Stone Battery, and 
the Wooden Battery, and am now returned to the White 



IS THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

Tower, so called because Henry iii. ordered it to be 
whitened. It is the original and principal tower in the 
fortress. 

Where now stands the Ordnance Office, once stood 
the old palace, the dwelling place of kings, with its 
spacious halls and extended galleries, its noble courts, 
and goodly gardens. Not a vestige of these remains ; 
but the antiquarian visitor draws upon his memory, and 
revels in the knowledge he has acquired from the dusty 
records of departed days. 

What glorious gifts are memory and imagination ! 
By these I once more build up the princely pile, long 
since dissolved, and people it with the Edwards, and 
Henries, and Richards of old. There is the painted 
hall, and in it are assembled a goodly throng of joyous 
guests. The royal captive, John, is lasting with the 
third Edward, and all his court. But this pageant has 
melted into air ; and Henry of Lancaster occupies its 
place, having received a kingly diadem from the second 
Jlichard. Thus are the puppets of power moved back- 
Avards and forwards. 

Thus Time, advanchig with a smile or frown, 
One raises up, and pulls another down. 

A further change, and now the painted hall is thronged 
with other characters: Catherine of Arragon, "beauti- 
ful and goodly to behold," Anne Boleyn, Jane Sey- 
mour, Anne of Clevcs, Catherine Howard, and Cathe- 
rine Parr, in quick succession, hc^ their interviews 
with the eighth Henr}^, before their espousals to him. 
What a lesson for ambition to ponder ! Two of Henry's 
wives weredivorced, and twobroughttothescaflbldby the 
royal sensualist. Sunshine and pomp and smiles began 
the dream of joy of the latter ; but Tower Hill and the 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 19 

block and the murderous axe were at its close. The 
old palace and the painted hall are gone ; the councils 
are dissolved, the banquets are broken up, the revels 
are ended, and the guests departed. There stands the 
modern Ordnance Office, and here am I, musing on 
the unsubstantial past. 

In my perambulations I have fallen in with many of 
the warders, in their round, flat-crowned caps, and 
bands of parti-coloured ribbons ; their fine scarlet cloth 
coats, with large sleeves and full-gathered skirts, seamed 
with gold lace, and their broad, laced girdles. Bear- 
ing the royal badge under their breasts, they accom- 
pany the visitors through the difl<:'rent armouries. 
There are forty of these men in the Tower, all habited 
like the royal yeomen of the guard : and besides them 
there are many other officers, among which are "a gen- 
tleman goaler, ' and four gunners. 

Successive reductions have taken place in the price 
of admittance, but the number of persons visiting the 
Tower now, is so much greater than formerly, that 
much more money is received from the present sixpen- 
ny admission than was ever realized when the price 
was three shillings. 

I have passed through the Ordnance Office, and 
have just left the curiously carved portal of the Record 
Office. This latter office is a place of great impor- 
tance. " Rolls from the time of king John to the begin- 
ning of the reign of Richard m., are kept here in nume- 
rous wainscot presses. These rolls and records contain 
the ancient tenures of land in Engl;md ; the original laws 
and statutes; the right of England to dominion over 
the British seas ; leagues and treaties with foreign prin- 
ces J the achievements of England in foreign wars j 



20 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

ancient grants of our kings to their subjects ; the forms 
of submission of the Scottish kings ; writs and proceed- 
ings of the courts of common law and equity ; the 
settlement of Ireland, as to laws and dominion ; privi- 
leges and immunities granted to all cities and corporations 
during the periods above mentioned, with many impor- 
tant records, and curious and valuable documents, 
together with the first edition of the Common Prayer- 
book, as settled upon at the restoration of Charles n., 
and that very ancient work called Doomsday -book." 

Let me now enter the Horse Armory. Ay ! this is 
a goodly sight in the eyes of a warrior ; for here the 
walls are hung 

Resplendently, with arms and armour bright, 
Habergeon hard, and ponderous battle axe, 
Hauberk and helm, cuirass, and lance, and sword. 

Armour has, at different periods, been formed of 
different materials, leather and padded linen, iron, steel. 
brass, silver, and gold. The hauberk, or shirt of mail, 
was formed of rings, placed edgeways, or of flat rings, 
sown on the vesture, or of small metal plates, covering 
each other like the scales of a fish. Over body armour 
surcoats were once worn, to prevent the sun from heating 
it. Gambuiscd armour was made of stitched padded 
work ; leathern vests were worn by archers ; mail and 
plate armour were mingled together, before plate ar- 
mour became general. Plate armour was not only plain 
but also fluted, black, bronzed, and engraved, as well 
as inlaid and embossed. Armour was at times so expen- 
sive, that it was said of sir Walter Raleigh, that when 
habited in his silver suit of armour, •' he had a Spanish 
galleon on his back." When men dwell together in 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 21 

the fear of God, and in mutual affection, how little is 
armour required ! 

These mail-clad warriors make us think of the Phi- 
listine giant slain by David, who, nearly three thousand 
years ago, defied the armies of the living God. " And 
there went out a champion out of the camp of the Phi- 
listines, named Goliah, of Gath, whose height was six 
cubits and a span. And he had an helmet of brass 
upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail ; 
and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of 
brass. And he had greaves of brass upon his legs, 
and a target of brass between his shoulders. And the 
staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam ; and his 
spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron : and 
one bearins: a shield went before him," 1 Sam. xvii. 
4 — 7. How beautifully clear is this description ! As 
I read it the Philistine giant seems to stride before me, 
and I can almost see his ugly, frowning face in spite of 
his iron helmet. This passage of Holy Writ is a per- 
fect picture. 

Among such a profusion of arrfied men and armed 
horses, the spectator becomes bewildered. Here are 
Edward i., in his hauberk ; Henry vi., in flexible plate 
armour, with battle-axe, long-pointed toes to his solle- 
rets, and enormous spurs ; Edward iv., in tournament 
armour ; Henry vn., in an elegant fluted suit ; Henry 
\aii., and Charles Brandon, dake of Suffolk — the latter 
in plate, and the former in gilt plate armour. These, 
with Charles i. in his gik armour, James ii. in his 
cuirass, and more than a dozen others, all on horseback, 
make a formidable appearance. Let me, for a moment, 
take a single figure, that I may see of what a suit of 



22 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

armour is composed, beginning at the feet, and ending 
with the head. 

First come the sabatynes, or steel clogs ; then the 
greaves, or shin pieces ; then the cuisses, or thigh pieces ; 
next, the breech mail ; the tuillettes, or waist pieces ; 
and the cuirass, or breast plate. Now come the vam 
braces, or lower-arm covers, rere-braces for the rest ol 
the arms to the shoulders ; gauntlets, or iron gloves for 
the hands, and a helmet for the head. There are, be- 
sides, a dagger, a short sword, a cloak worn over the 
armour, a bacinet, a long sword, a pennoncel, held in 
the left hand, and a shield. The lance used in tilt- 
ing is different to that employed in a deadly enterprise. 

I could willingly linger here, but it may not be : 
hurrying, therefore, past the effigies, arches, soldiers, 
and swordsmen, officers, cavaliers, cuirassiers, and pike- 
men, and stealing a hasty glance at the pistols, carbines, 
muskets, and fowling pieces, the Mameluke crimson- 
velvet saddle; the splendid Turkish bridle, and the 
swords, helmet, and girdle of Tippoo Saib, I make the 
best of my way to Glueen Elizabeth's Armoury, with- 
out pausing more than a minute to admire the ramrod 
canopy, the gun-barrel pillars, the gigantic man-at-arms, 
the crusader on his barbed horse, and the curious re- 
presentation of St. George and the dragon. 

And now the implements of war, the instruments of 
destruction, thicken upon me. These are the prolific 
progeny of evil passions ; the scorpion brood of sin. 
There is a party of visitors before me, and their admi- 
ration and praise are unbounded. One timid feniale 
alone has whispered the word " dreadful !" and dreadful 
they are : cross-bows, daggers, swords, pikes, and hal- 
berds, hand-guns, arquebuses, haquebuts anddemihaques, 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 23 

are mingled with wheel-locks, snap-haunces, calivers, 
and carabines. There seems no end to the ingeniout 
devices of strife and violence, anger and hatred, malice 
and all uncharitableness. Esclopettes, fusils, musque- 
toons, and fowling pieces, petronels, blunderbusses, dra- 
gons, and hand mortars, dogs, tricker locks, and self- 
loading guns, are but a small part of the murderous 
collection. 

Turn which way I will, I see weapons of cold-blooded 
cruelty. Ingenuity has been industrious and successful, 
in providing means to beat, bruise, pierce, cut, tear, man- 
gle, batter, and destroy the human form. Thum-screws, 
yokes, cravats, billhooks, glaives, gisarmes, ranseurs, 
partizans, and spontoons ; iron maces, military forks, 
and two-handed battle axes. Here is a tormenting catch 
pole, with a collar of torment; there, an Tddart staffer 
a Jedburgh axe ; and yonder a military flail, a behead- 
ing axe, and a murderous morning star. Did the war- 
like wielders of these expect to enjoy peace ? could the 
merciless inventors of them ever hope for mercy 1 If 
the High and Holy One should deal with them as they 
have dealt with others, the gates of mercy are closed 
against them for ever. 

In this cell, formed within the thickness of the wall, 
it is said that sir Walter Raleigh stretched his imprison- 
ed limbs. There are inscriptions cut on the angles of 
its entrance, supposed to be by the hands of captives 
confined there. One is, " He that endureth to the end 
shall be saved ;" and another, " Be faithful unto death, 
and I will give thee a crown of life." Under any cir- 
cumstances, these are impressive texts of Scripture, but 
how significant and striking, with the axe of the execu- 
tioner in prospect ! But enough of the White Tower 



24 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

Goeffry, prince of Wales, in the year 1234, broke his 
neck in the vain attempt to escape from its massy 
walls ; but I can walk away unquestioned and unop- 



The savage yells and bowlings of wild beasts used 
to resound in sullen echoes from the outward parts of 
the fortress, but the dens of the old menagerie are de- 
serted. The Mint, also, once within the Tower has 
Deen, long since, removed. I might speak here of the 
iifferent Towers of the Inner Ward, or Ballium ; of 
Bell Tower, Beauchamp, or Cobham Tower, and Dev- 
ilin's Tower, to the west; of Flint Tower, Bowyer 
Tower, Brick Tower, and Martin Tower, to the north ; 
of Constable Tower, Broad Arrow Tower, and Salt 
Tower, to the east; and of Well Tower, Lanthrone 
Tower, and Bloody Tower, to the south ; but my tim© 
is fast wearing away. Flint Tower is almost gone ; 
Bowyer Tower has only its basement ; Brick Tower 
is much altered from its ancient state ; Martin Tower is 
now the Jewel Tower, and Lanthrone Tov.^er is clean 
swept away. 

In was in Beauchamp, or Cobham Tower, that the 
state prisoners were usually confined. The melancholy 
memorials left by them on the walls, from roof to vault, 
in the shape of inscriptions : coats of arms, and devices 
of varied kinds, are numberless. " A passage perilous 
maketh a port pleasant," and " Close prisoner 8 months, 
32 weeks, 224 days, 5376 hours," are two of the in- 
scriptions. I could muse for an hour on them both. 
Oh, what sorrow has sin brought into the world ! 

In Bowyer's Tower, according to tradition, and for 
aught I know, according to the records of the place, the 
duke of Clarence was drowned in a butt of Malmsey- 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 25 

wine, by order of Crookback Richard. When a boy I 
. earned to shudder at this and other inhumanities prac- 
tised in the Tower. 

The secret and subterranean passages of this strong 
hold used to be many, and no doubt a great part of them 
remain. Noisome dungeons, dark and airless, flooded 
with water, and infested with vermin. Little Ease 
was a horrible place of confinement, and the Pit was a 
dark and wretched excavation, twenty feet deep. 

I am now standing in the open space between the 
Grand Storehouse and the White Tower, and past 
events are flitting before me, strangely mingled in my 
thoughts. There is a tournament on the Tower Green ; 
a press of knights, and a concourse of dainty dames. 
The massy walls give back the flourish of the trumpets. 
Minstrels and esquires, retainers, pages, and servitors 
crowd the place. The council chamber is filled. The 
sovereign is gorgeously attended in his palace. The 
drawbridge is up, the gates are closed, and glittering 
corslet and pike are reflected on the moat's dark waters. 
The secret dungeons are crowded ; fetters, torturing- 
irons and racks are ready ; and officers, jailers, tor- 
turers, and executioners within call. A throng are as- 
sembled on Tower Hill, for there frowns the scaffold, 
and the richest and the best blood of the land is reeking 
on the soil. 

I have passed through the Grand Storehouse, and 
gazed on its cannon and its mortars of wood, iron and 
brass. I have ascended the Grand Staircase, and seen 
the various devices formed with pikes, pistols, bayonets, 
and other weapons, as well as the great dep6t of musk- 
ets. The Regalia, also, has been visited by me, and 
now I am on the top of Devilin's Tower, looking down 
3 



26 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

on the new stone battery of six guns : the sentinel is 
regarding me attentively. Rusty locks, and harsh jar- 
ring hinges have turned for me. Trap-doors have been 
forced open for me, and I have visited the vaults and 
gloomy dungeons of the place, " by the taper dimly 
burning." In one of them the mouldy damp was an 
inch or two thick, and as white as wool. As I look 
round there seems to be sufficient matter for a century's 
meditations. 

Once more I pass the guard at the entrance. Strange 
thoughts are crowding upon me as I leave the Tower. 
I entered it with a hatred of bondage, and I quit it with 
an increased love of freedom. In a country cottage, I 
could sing aloud for joy ; but my thoughts are shadowy 
in this stronghold of power. There is that in its massy 
bulwarks that speaks of oppression, and a voice in the 
silence of its gloomy dungeons that tells of violence 
and blood. On Tower Hill I shall breathe more freely. 
Famous as is this shadowy pile, I like it not. Not al- 
ways would I dwell within its moat-surrounded battle- 
ments for all the money that was ever coined within its 
walls : the atmosphere of the past has polluted it. Fit 
up the White Tower for my princely abode ; clothe me 
with " purple and fine-twined linen ;" give me the re- 
galia for a bribe, and " ten thousand marks by the year' 
to keep up my state ; compel me to reside there always, 
and I would not even willingly be master-general of the 
ordnance and constable of the Tower ! 

Since the above remarks were made, a terrible fire 
lias destroyed the Grand Storehouse at the Tower. 
More than two hundred thousand stand of arms have 
been consumed, with other property to a very great 



THE TOWER OF LONDON. 27 

amount. The flames were dreadful, flaring up higli in 
the air, and melting into one amalgamated mass thou- 
sands of gunlocks, bayonets, and other arms. I have 
ju5t spoken to a pious lady residing on Tower Hill, 
who, when told, on the night of the Are, that the sur- 
rounding neighbourhood would be blown up by the gun- 
powder in the magazine, was enabled calmly to reply, 
that such an event could not take place without God's 
permission, and again went to repose on her pillow. 
Oh, that we may be prepared for every trial especially 
for that " day of the Lord" which will come " as a thief 
in the night ; in the which the heavens shall pass away 
with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with 
fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are there- 
in shall be burned up," 2 Peter iii. 10. 



SAINT PAUL'S CATHEDRAL. 

St. Paul's, the most gigantic, the most elevated, the 
most celebrated, and by far the most conspicuous build- 
ing m London, is a fit edifice to be visited by a peram- 
bulator. It is, perhaps, the grandest church in the 
world, with the exception of St. Peter's at Rome. As 
an object of general interest, it is entitled to every con- 
sideration. In whatever part of the metropolis a stran- 
ger may be, he cannot long promenade the streets with- 
out catching a glimpse of this stupendous pile, which 
lifts its giant head and shoulders far above the buildings 
that surround it. 

St. Paul's Cathedral stands in the wards of Castle 



28 

Baynard and Farringdon, and in the parishes of St. 
Gregory and St. Faith. I am now looking up at the 
huge fabric, that somewhat oppresses me by its gigantic 
dimensions. The elegant iron balustrade that surrounds 
it, weighs, I am told, at the least, two hundred tons, and 
cost eleven thousand pounds. 

The statue of Glueen Anne, in the area, surrounded 
with the allegorical figures of Great Britain and Ire- 
land, France and America ; the double rows of black 
marble steps ; the noble portico of twelve Corinthian 
columns, and eight of the composite order above them ; 
the triangular pediment, with a representation of St. 
Paul's conversion ; the statue of St. Paul on the centre, 
with St. Peter, St. James, and the four Evangelists at 
the sides, are all well worthy of attention. 

I remember to have heard an anecdote about the 
motto " Resurgam" on the south front. It is said, that 
when sir Christopher Wren was undecided about the 
motto he should choose, he had occasion for something 
to put under a stone that was about to be placed in a 
certain position, when a workman brought him a piece 
of an old tomb-stone, on which was graven the word 
Resurgam. This word was instantly adopted as the 
required motto. Whether this story be true or not, a 
more appropriate motto could scarcely have been found. 

I have often gazed on the weather-bleached stone 
work of St. Paul's, especially on the south side, with- 
out being able to determine the rule, or the natural 
laws, by which such an effect has been produced. 
Many of the pillars and prominent parts of the building 
are, here and there, almost as white as if covered with 
whitewash ; while the adjoining stone work is much 
more like ebony than ivory. The winds, the rains, 



29 

and the climate appear to have been fickle in their 
attacks on this venerable edifice ; they are not invari- 
ably the most prominent parts, nor seemingly those 
most exposed that are thus bleached ; nor are they the 
most secluded that are dingy and dirty. The general 
effect, however, of the discolouration is highly imposing. 
It is said, that '• mansions may be built, but not oak 
trees j" and certain it is, that if another St. Paul's could 
be erected, equal in all other respects, it must, of neces- 
sity, be inferior in that time-worn and venerable appear- 
ance, Avhich the present truly magnificent edifice pos- 
sesses. Old people are usually sticklers for things 
ancient in appearance, and I would not willingly part 
with what the finger of time has inscribed on St. Paul's. 

I have entered the church by the northern door : it 
is the hour of prayer ; the minister, the choristers, and 
the congregation are assembled ; and as I sit on one of 
the benches in the vast area of the church, the shrill 
and harmonious chaunt of youthful voices is rising 
round me, and the deep diapason of the solemn organ, 
like thunder modulated and rendered musical, is impet- 
uously bursting from the choir, pouring irresistibly 
along through the elevated arches, and long-drawn 
aisles, and filling, with awful melody, the mighty dome 
above my head. 

If, clothed and clogged with the infirmity of human 
nature, such soul-transporting sounds, and rapturous 
emotions are permitted us, what will be the music of 
heaven ! and what the unimaginable transports of glo- 
rified spirits ! 

While the visionary and devotee consider these sub- 
lime choruses as of themselves constituting devotion ; 
and while some condemn them as inconsistent with the 
3* 



30 ST. Paul's cathedral. 

simplicity of Christian worship ; enough for me if I 
feel that they give a passing fervour to my faith, and 
carry my affections onward to that eternal world, that 
is represented to us as resounding with hallelujahs. So 
long as music is content to be the handmaid of devotion, 
she is well worthy of regard ; but when she sets uj' 
herself to be worshipped, down with her, down with 
her, even to the ground ! 

The service is now ended, and the congregation are 
thronging the space between the choir and the northern 
door, while, here and there, small parties are seen 
walking from one monument to another. 

I look up at the capacious dome with wonder. What 
a pigmy I am, compared to this stupendous structure, 
which is itself but a speck in creation ! The oppres- 
sive vastness of the church is increased by its absence 
of ornament. Not that the columns, the arches, and 
the vaultings of the cupola are altogether without dec- 
oration ; but the grotesque and elaborate carvings that 
frequently enrich Gothic edifices are here looked for in 
vain. The magnificence of St. Paul's is rather felt in 
its influential whole, than seen in the costliness of its in- 
dividual parts. 

Those who have seen the scaffolding erected here on 
the first Thursday in June, occupied by seven thousand 
children, have gazed on a spectacle that they are not 
likely to forget. 

Here are the works of the Bacons, Chantrey, Flax- 
man, Westmacott, and Rossi ; Baily, Tollemacho, 
Hopper, and Gahagan. Here are the monuments of 
Nelson, Howe, St. Vincent, Heathfield, Collingwoodj 
and Duncan ; Abercrombie, Cornwallis, and sir John 
Moore ; sir Joshua Reynolds, Barry, Opie, West, and 



ST. PAULS CATHEDRAL. 31 

sii Thomas Lawrence; Dr. Johnson, sir William 
Jones, Howard the philanthropist, and the architect of 
the place, sir Christopher Wren. 

The flags, in both dome and nave, are motionless ; 
but they have waved amid the stormy fight. Many a 
death-grapple took place before the French, and Dutch, 
and Spanish standard-bearers were despoiled of them. 

Observe that family group of spectators: they are 
from the countr}^ ; the father takes the lead, with a boy 
of five years old, dressed in his new buttoned clothes ; 
the mother holds by the hand her little daughter. The 
father has told them already, before they quitted home, 
of the wonders of the place, and they regard his words 
as the voice of an oracle. He has been here before, 
and he shows them one monument after another, with 
an emotion very like that of pride ; for how could they 
manage to see all without him ? what would they know 
of the place without his descriptions ? He is the master 
of the ceremonies ; the family head and guide ; the Lon- 
don directory ; the every thing to them in their visit to 
this wonderful city. Perhaps, while I am making my 
remarks on the stranger, he may be commenting on 
me. He may be saying to himself, " Yonder grey- 
headed old gentleman looks about him. I wonder 
whether he is as much in earnest after the things of a 
better world, as he appears to be after the things in 
this. It is high time for him to be setting his affections 
on things that are above, bearing in mind that ' our days 
upon earth are a shadow.' " 

The finely wrought and imposing figures of Nelson, 
with the lion beneath him ; sir John Moore wounded 
and dying ; and sir Ralph Abercrombie falling from his 
horse into the arms of a Highland soldier, by turns 



32 ST. PAUL S CATHEDRAL. 

attract the attention and secure the admiration of the 
several visitors of the c'athedral. The soldier and the 
sailor, on entering this much frequented place, must feel 
an additional enthusiasm. The}^ see the homage that 
is paid to the hero, and "forget the wounds and death- 
grapples, the cries and groans, the widow's sighs and 
orphans' tears that are required to make up a victory. 

Look at the awe-struck little urchins, that are orazinof 
with timid air on the monument of Howard. Their 
attention has already been directed to the diminutive 
figures in. bas-relief, representing the stern jailor with 
his key, and the poor famished prisoner, who is being 
supplied with food by the philanthropist. At another 
time their little hearts will feel sensible of compassion, 
but now, while they lift up their eyes to the cold marble, 
the gigantic and motionless figure of Howard, the}' are 
rather frozen with awe than melted with pity. 

The colossal figure of doctor Johnson, on the oppo- 
site monument, represents the intellectual gladiator, the 
mighty lexicographer, in a standing attitude. Unlike 
the graven bust, in the title-page of his dictionary, he 
stands erect, habited as a Roman, with a majestic mien, 
fixing the regard, and commanding the admiration of 
the spell-bound visitor. The man of letters comes here, 
a pilgrim to the shrine of talent, and pays a willing 
homage to departed intellect. 

And these, then, are the most enduring records of 
this world's admiration ! What a tale of humiliation 
is told by the disfigured efligy, the mutilated marble, 
and the time-worn monument of the hero ! 



"These mouldering records mnke one feel ashamed 
Th.it lame and glory have so liiile power 
To hand their greatness down to luiure tinjes." 



ST. 



33 



It is said that St. Paul's was first built by Ethelbert, 
king of Kent, a. d. 619. And that kings Kenred, 
Athelstan, Edi^ar, Ethelred, and Canute, Edward the 
Confessor, and William the Conqueror, all contributed 
largely to its support. 

There is, indeed, abundant reason to believe, that a 
Christian church occupied the same site at a very early- 
period ; and that this, when destroyed by the Dioclesian 
persecution, was again rebuilt in the time of Constantino 
the Great. It was after the demolition of this church 
that Ethelbert undertook its re-erection. 

Two or three times it was destroyed by fire, and 
more than once the spire was struck by lightning. 
Among the names of those who were, at different peri- 
ods, the most zealous in its preparation, may be men- 
tioned, William de Belmois, Osbert de Camera, Mau- 
rice Belmois, and Roger Niger, bishops of London. 
To these must be added, Henry Lacy, earl of Lincoln ; 
Ralph Baldock, bishop of London ; and queen Eliza- 
beth. The latter gave out of her own purse, a thousand 
marks of gold ; and added also to her gift a thousand 
loads of timber. 

From the year 1631 to 1643, more than a hundred 
thousand pounds was received to repair St. Paul's ; and 
the work vas begun by sir Inigo Jones. The chapels 
and altars of St. Paul's, before the Reformation, were 
very numerous, and the rites of the Romish religion 
were celebrated with great pomp and pageantry. With 
rich treasures, and two hundred officiating priests, it 
abounded in what was alluring and imposing to the eye : 
statues of the Virgin Mary, with huge tapers burning 
before them continually : caskets decorated with jewels, 



34 ST. Paul's cathedral. 

and filled with relics ; as well as rich censers, cruets 
and chalices, and basins of gold and silver. 

At one period beggars asked alms in the church ; 
fashionable people made it a lounging place, and 
porters, with their packs, used it as a common thorough- 
fare. 

Little respect was paid to the costly structure of St. 
Paul's durmg the civil wars that broke out ; for then 
the work of desolation spread wide within its walls ; 
the pavement of marble was torn up, the stalls were 
pulled down, while sawpits were dug in some parts, 
and horses stabled in others of the sacred edifice.* 

The old church of St. Paul's had one of the highest 
spires in the world, it being, with the tower, a height of 
534 feet ; but this spire was burned early in the reign 
of queen Elizabeth, by the carelessness of a plumber ; 
the roof also was injured so as to cost many thousand 
pounds to repair ; but the chapel spire never rose again. 
The high altar stood between two columns, and was 
adorned profusely with jewellery, as well as surrounded 
with images, beautifully wrought, and covered with a 
canopy of wood, representing saints and angels. In the 
centre of the church stood a large cross ; against a 
pillar was a beautiful image of the Virgin Mary, before 
which an anthem was sung every day, and a lamp kept 
continually burning ; while in the tower was a fine dial, 
with an angel pointing to the hour. 

But the costliness of the structure was no defence 
against the all-devouring element that was to consume 
it. The great fire of 1666 wrapped it in flames. This 
fire was one of the most tremendous scourges that ever 
visited London. It seemed as if the Holy One was 
pouring out, on the devoted city, the vials of his wrath. 



ST. Paul's cathedral. 35 

" It was in the depth and dead of the night, when 
most doors and fences were locked up in the city, thai 
the fire doth break forth and appear abroad, and like a 
mighty giant refreshed with wine, doth awake and arm 
itself, and quickly gathers strength. 

" That night most of the Londoners had taken their 
last sleep in their houses ; they little thought it would 
be so when they went into their beds ; they did not in 
the least suspect, when the doors of their ears were un- 
locked, and the casements of their eyes were opened in 
the morning, to hear of such an enemy invading the 
city, and that they should see him, with such fury, en- 
ter the doors of their houses, break into every room, 
and look out at their casements, with such a threatening 
countenance. 

" That which made the ruin the more dismal, was, 
that it was begun on the Lord's day morning. Never 
was there the like sabbath in London. Some churches 
were in flames that day ; and God seemed to come 
down, and to preach himself in them, as he did in 
Mount Sinai, when the mount burned with fire ; suck 
warm preaching those churches never had, such light- 
ning dreadful sermons never were before delivered in 
London. In other churches ministers were preaching 
their farewell sermons, and people were hearing with 
quaking and astonishment. Instead of a holy rest 
which Christians have taken on this day, there is a tu- 
multuous hurrying upon the spirits of those that sat still, 
and had only the notice of the ear of .the quick and 
strange spreading of the fire. 

" NoAV fearfulness and terror doth surprise the citi- 
zens of London ; confusion and astonishment doth fiU 



36 ST. 

upon them at this unheard-of, unthought-of judgment. 
It would have grieved the heart of an unconcerned per- 
son to see the rueful looks, the pale cheeks, the tears 
trickling down from the eyes, (where the greatness of 
sorrow and amazement could give leave for such a 
vent,) the smiting of the breast, the wringing of the 
hands ; to hear the sighs and groans, the doleful and 
weeping speeches of the distressed citizens, when they 
were bringing forth their wives, some from their child- 
bed, and their little ones, some from their sick bed, out 
of their houses, and sending them into the country, or 
somewhere into the fields, Avith their goods." 

St. Paul's Cathedral, as it stood before the great fire, 
was altogether ruined ; the foundations of the present 
building were laid in 1675, and the whole magnificent 
structure was completed under the direction of sir Chris- 
topher Wren, in thirty-five years, at an expense of a 
million and a half of money. 

The black and white Corinthian marble columns of 
the choir, the episcopal throne, the bishop's seat, the 
seat of the lord mayor, and the dean's stall, are well 
worthy of regard ; but other objects are now before me. 

I have ascended the circular wooden staircase, and 
paid a visit to the library, the model room, the geome- 
trical staircase, and the big bell ; and now I am seated 
in the whispering gallery. The rattling thunder of the 
closing door has rolled around me, and at this moment, 
the whispers of the man at the entrance are announc- 
ing to me the altitude and dimensions of the cathedral. 

The stone bench on which 1 sit is very cold. What 
an awful depth it is to the floor of the building, where 
ihe diminutive living figures are pacing the black and 



white marble stones ! There ! I have given one glance 
at the faded paintings above. Now then for the giddy 
height of the golden gallery. 



LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF 
ST. PAUL'S. 

With a companion, I have ascended the stone stair- 
case ; we have groped our way, almost in the dark, up 
the wooden steps and platforms, within the dome, and at 
last, have emerged to light. We are now at the top of 
the cupola, with the ball and cross above us ; and Lon- 
don is spread, like a carpet, beneath our feet. Rather 
a bold undertaking for an old man ; but I have taken 
my time, and feel but little fatigued — what a blessing is 
a healthy frame and a hearty constitution ! 

There are some half-dozen persons in the gallery. 
Among them, are two Spaniards, Avith pale faces and 
dark mustachios, one of whom speaks a little English; 
and a little gentlemanly Frenchman of low stature, 
who, whether he can speak English or not, will not. 
The Spaniards are reserved, the Frenchman very com- 
municative. The latter tells me that Paris, when seen 
from the Pantheon, or from Notre Dame, is larger than 
London ; for that three parts of London are hid by the 
fog. 

On a fine day the view from this place must be truly 

grand, every part of the metropolis and the surrounding 

neighbourhood being so fully commanded. At the 

moment, it seems a complete chaos of brick, tile, slate 

4 



38 LONI 

towers, spires, chimney-pots, and smoke, with a fog in 
the distance that sadly circumscribes the view : by and 
by, when I begin to trace the streets, no doubt some- 
thing like order will appear. 

What a fearful height we are elevated from the earth ! 
the Monument and the churches are but pigmies to this 
giant of a cathedral. The Lilliputian world below 
shrinks into insignificance ; and not a voice reaches us 
from the distant multitude. While I look down upon 
the churchyard, the thought of falling there is horrible ! 

I have, aforetime, been within the ball above my 
head, and am not now sufficiently high-minded to re- 
new my visit. The strong, heavy, iron-railing, placed 
here for security, is painted yellow, and a thousand 
names are etched or scratched thereupon, in celebration 
of the visit of those who from this place have gazed on 
London city. The bulging out of the huge cupola 
below my feet, impresses the mind with a sense of ex- 
tent and ponderosit}^ It makes one reflect on the neces- 
sity of a firm foundation for such a colossal pile. 

The statue of St. Paul there, on the west end of the 
cathedral, with its back towards us, has but a sorry ap- 
pearance ; and the same remark may be made of the 
other figures, for, seen from this point of view, they are 
nothing but shapeless blocks of stone, supported by un- 
sightly iron bars, though their fronts are very beautiful. 
To put the best on the outside is a rule that is observed 
in many things beside sculpture and architecture. 

Though the height of St. Paul's so much exceeds 
that of the Monument, the perpendicular view from the 
latter is, by far the more fearful of the two. The cupola 
and the church of St. Paul's prevent the eye from en- 
countering here that dreadful depth which the gazer 



LONDON, 

from the Monument endures. Still, as the eye travels 
down the dome, and suddenly plunges into the church- 
yard, the immeasurable gulf is sufficiently terrible. 
What a Tarpeian rock to be flung from headlong ! 

The continued rattle occasioned by the passing vehi- 
cles, and the varied sounds in the public streets, are all 
blended in one unceasing rumble by the time they as- 
cend to this place. You scarcely hear any individual 
sound, unless it be the striking of a church clock. A 
man may be seen at work with his hammer, another 
may be smacking his whip, and a third sawing a piece 
of timber ; but the sounds of the hammer, the whip, and 
the saw cannot be heard. 

In the north part of the churchyard below, once 
stood St. Paul's Cross, a remarkable piece of antiquity. 
Here were the magistrates chosen, and every male of 
twelve years old and upwards, sworn to be true to the 
king and his heirs. When the old cross was destroyed, 
a new one was raised. At this cross Jane Shore did 
penance ; here the first English Bible was publicly 
burned; and here cardinal Wolsey read the sentence 
against Martin Luther and his works. 

The shop windows in St. Paul's churchyard look 
gay, ornamented as they are with glittering brass, but 
the large window panes are sadly diminished by the 
distance, and the names of their illustrious owners can 
scarcely be deciphered. There are five or six young 
men peeping in at the music shop, and two ladies in 
white have this moment stopped at the milliner's win- 
dow. The varied articles that are exposed for sale, 
appear all mingled together. The broad slated roofs, 
of what used to be Newgate Market, are very conspic* 



40 LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF ST. PAUL's. 

uous, while the narrow strip of a street cal.ed Pater- 
noster-row, can scarcely be traced with the eye. 

There is the Post Office, with its portico and Doric 
pillars : as seen from the ground it is a noble edifice ; 
but this altitude is a sad revealer of secrets. We here 
perceive that the outside is of stone, and the inside of 
brick. I might enter on a description of the building, 
its exterior form, and its internal arrangements, its sys- 
tem of business, its branch offices, and its regulations 
for receiving and despatching letters ; for it is a little 
city in itself, and in degree may be said, if not to regu- 
late, at least, to affect the beating of every heart, and the 
throbbing of every pulse in the metropolis. 

And that is St. Martin' s-le-Grand ! Could I go back 
a few short centuries ; instead of the scene that now 
presents itself, I should be gazing on old Alders-gate ; 
the richly and royally endowed priory of St. Martin-le- 
Grand ; and the proud and princely mansion of the 
duke of Brittany. Even now, I can fancy that I hear 
the Christmas anthem of a band of brotherhood, portly 
in form and feature ; as with sack and wallet they 
plod their way through the miry streets to gather lar- 
gesses against the holy tide. Christmas was Christmas 
then, in all its ceremonial decorations, its wide-spread 
charities, its open-hearted hospitality, and its reckless 
revelry. 

He who would learn to the full, the manner and spirit 
with which our ancestors commemorated Christmas, 
had need be patient and persevering, as well as ardent, 
in his inquiry ; for the authorities he has to consult, and 
the evidence he has to collect, are widely scattered 
through records of a varied character. 

Should he fix on the days of William the Norman, 



Paul's. 41 

as on a starting point, and continue his course to those of 
Oliver Cromwell ; he must turn over the ample pages 
of many an ancient record and time-worn chronicle ; 
he must ponder over the statute-book, scrutinize the 
rolls of court, and read the antique ballads of the olden 
times. The royal household books, and the archives 
of noble families, will furnish him with much informa- 
tion ; and the popular traditions, and expiring observan- 
ces in many a country homestead at Christmas, will 
throw occasional light on the faint and shadowy remem- 
brances of remoter times. 

When we read of our great great grandfathers, and 
our equally memorable and venerated great great grand- 
mothers, sitting at the huge dinner table prodigally sup- 
plied with orthodox, dishes ; the damask napkin drawn 
through the highest button hole of their church-going, 
Christmas-visiting coats ; or the lawn handkerchief care- 
fully pinned over the brocade stomacher, reciprocating 
healths ; and unitedly complimenting the mistress of the 
entertainment ; who, well versed in all the mysteries of 
the still and stewpan, competent to " rear a goose " 
" sauce a capon," " border a pasty," or " barb a lobster," 
with her best point ruffles pinned up, and brandishing 
her huge carving knife, occupied her household throne 
— the large arm chair, at the head of the table. When 
we read that our ancestors assembled themselves at the 
festive board. 

"And served up salmon, venison, and wild boars, 
By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores," 

we regard them as a race of men altogether diverse from 
those that now people our path-ways. We can now 
hardly realize, even by the glimpses we may get of a 
lord mayor's feast, of the wassail ry and prodigality of 
4* 



42 LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF ST. PAUl's. 

our progenitors, when, with sinewy frames and lusty ap- 
petites, they revelled 'mid 

"Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard, 
Muttons and fatted beeves, and bacon swine ; 
Herons and bitterns, peacocks, svvun and bustard, 

Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and in fine 
Plum puddings, pancakes, apple pies, and custard, 
And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine, 
■ With mead, and ale, and cider of our own, 
For porter, punch, and negus were not known." 

Christ's Hospital is plainly seen. It was originally 
a religious house of the order of Grey Friars, who 
came from Italy 1224. The new hall is a noble build- 
ing in the Tudor style, and stands partly on the ancient 
wall of London, and partly on the spot where stood the 
refectory of Grey Friars. The principal front is to- 
Avards Newgate street. It has an octagon tower at each 
extremity, and is supported by buttresses with embattled 
top and pinnacles. 

Christ's Hospital, in 1552, was prepared to receive 
poor fatherless children. Their livery was russet cot- 
ton, which soon after was changed for blue. The 
present Christ Church was built by sir Christopher 
Wren, the architect of the goodly pile on which I am 
now standing. The old Monastery church was burned 
down by the groat fire of London, in 1 GG6. 

Who has not stood at the iron gates, to see the boys 
belonging to the place at play, in their oldfashioned 
monkish garb 7 The dark blue coat with long skirts, 
the yellow petticoat and stockings, the leathern girdle, 
the white neckband, and the small black worsted cap, are 
altogether unlike the dress of modern times. 

The square there, with the four noble stone buildings, 
united by stone gateways at the angles, is St. Bartholo- 



LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF ST. PAUl's. 43 

mew's Hospital. It is devoted to the use of the sick : 
nearly four thousand in-patients, and a yet greater 
number of out-patients, have been cured or relieved by 
this establishment, in the course of a year. 

A little to the right yonder, is the Charter-house, with 
its front in Charter-house square. An extensive Car- 
thusian monastery once stood on the spot where the 
present building is situated. The Charter-house Hos- 
pital and Free-school were founded by a wealthy citizen 
of the name of Sutton. 

Another monastic establishment occupied a spot be- 
yond, where the knights-hospitallers of St. John of 
Jerusalem, resided. St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell, is 
well known. Changed as London is, from what it was 
in the olden time, who shall say that it will not be much 
more so in future days ? 

I can just catch a glimpse of Smithfield. " Schmyt 
Fyeld," it was once called ; but a different place it was 
then, to what it is now. About a third of it may be 
seen from this gallery. It is the principal London mart 
for cattle, sheep, pigs, horses, and hay. JMore than six- 
teen thousand pigs, seventeen thousand calves, t\yenty 
thousand horses, a hundred thousand bullocks, and nine 
hundred thousand sheep and lambs, are here annually 
sold. 

It was in Smithfield, that the lord mayor, Walworth, 
in the reign of Richard n., killed Wat Tyler ; and at a 
yet earlier date, duels were decided there according to 
the " kamp-fight" ordeal of the Saxons. 

Tilts and tournaments, also, were held in Smithfield. 
Three thousand archers once assembled here, most of 
them with golden chains suspended from their necks, 
attended Avith crowds of people ; and Henry vhl created, 



44 LONDON, 

in a jestful manner, one Barlow, duke of Shoreditch, for 
his skill in archery. 

It was here that the doting hero, Edward ni., in his 
sixty-second year, when he ought to have been much 
better employed, " infatuated by the charms of Alice 
Pierce, placed her by his side in a magnificent car, and 
stylmg her ' the lady of the sun' conducted her to the 
lists, followed by a train of knights, each leading by the 
bridle a beautiful palfrey mounted by a gay damsel ; 
and for seven days together, exhibited the most splendid 
justs in indulgence of his disgraceful passion." 

To the magnificent tournament of Richard ii., held 
at this place, " there issued out of the Towre of Lon- 
don, fyrst three-score coursers, apparelled for the justes, 
and on every one a squyer of honour riding a soft pace. 
Then issued out three-score ladyes of honoure mounted 
on fayre palfreyes ; and every lady led a knight by a 
cheyne of silver, which knights were apparelled to 
just." 

Bartholomew fair was granted for three days in the 
year to the neighbouring priory by Henry ii. ; and ever 
since- then, Smithfield has annually been the scene of 
theatrical representations, wild beasts, shows of all de- 
scriptions, revelry, folly, and crime. Bad characters 
have assembled there of all kinds, but latterly, some 
successful attempts have been made to diminish the evils 
of this fair. 

But even the reckless debauchery of Bartholomew 
fair, cannot compare in iniquity with the cruel burnings 
of the martyrs in Smithfield: these mark the place 
with a fearful significancy, and brand it with an infamy 
never to be effaced. 

There is a soft, picture-like expression given by the 



45 

great elevation of this place to the objects below ; and 
as individual voices are not heard, being drowned in 
the universal rumble of the streets, the objects of the 
scattered multitude seem to be set forth by actions, not 
by words. 

The Spaniards are stalking round the gallery, mak- 
ing but few remarks. Not so the little Frenchman, 
who has just observed to me, with a shrug of exultation, 
that they have none of our English fogs in France ; 
and that the Monument of London is not like the co- 
lumn of the Place Vendome in Paris. 

I have just found out Cripplegate Church, where the 
earthly part of Milton moulders. Dryden's lines on the 
three great poets, Homer, Virgil, and Milton, are well 
Imown. 

"Three poets in three distant ages horn, 
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn ; 
The first in majesty of thought surpaas'd, 
The next in gracefulness ; in both, the last. 
The force of nature could no further go, 
To make a third, she join'd the other two." 

The fog seems to increase, and every distant object 
is hidden, or appears very indistinct. Greenwich is 
hardly perceptible. The marine forest there, the ar- 
mada on the river, has a goodly appearance ; and the 
bridges bestriding the noble stream are striking objects 
in this splendid panorama. I have ventured the remark 
to the Frenchman, that they have no river Thames at 
Paris. He replies by asking me with a shrug, where 
are our English palaces ? and if I have ever visited 
Versailles ? Nationality is strong with him ; but this 
is as it should be. True patriots love their father-land. 

«< Where'er we roam 

Our first, best country ever is at home," 



46 LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF ST. PAUL's. 

whether we are Englishmen or Frenchmen ; whether 
we were born under the line, or where icebergs crowd 
the northern sea. 

The top only of the Bank of England can be dis- 
cerned from hence. This is by far the most important 
institution in the world with regard to money matters. 
Millions and millions are. circulated through the four 
quarters of the globe by the agency of this establish- 
ment. If we were as anxious to lay up treasure in 
heaven as we are to amass it on earth, how much of 
care and distraction should we avoid ! 

The scaffolded space yonder, once occupied by the 
Royal Exchange, is plainly seen. The conflagration 
of this elegant edifice was a sore visitation to the mer- 
chants of London. It was a singular circumstance that 
while the fire was at its height, the chimes in the tower 
of the building were playing the tune, " There's nae 
luck about the house." The destruction, the loss, and 
the inconvenience occasioned by the burning of this 
place, were truly terrible. 

The green trees which are seen here and there, 
among the masses of brick and stone buildings of the 
city, look very picturesque. They refresh the eye, and 
the spirit too. In the large tree at the corner of Wood- 
street, Cheapside, are two or three rooks' nests, contain- 
ing young ones. Who would think of going a birds- 
nesting in Cheapside ? 

The Mansion House resembles one habitation built 
upon another ; and Guildhall and the India House I 
cannot discern. The Mint appears to great advantage ; 
and the Tower and the Monument are very conspicuous. 

As I look around, some new object is continually 
rising in view. The Custom Plouse, the Docks, an^ 



LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF ST. PAUl's. 47 

the Greenwich Railway -station are all seen, and St. Sa- 
viour's Church at the foot of London Bridge. It was 
in the Lad}^ Chapel of this truly beautifu. Gothic 
church, that Bonner and Gardiner, whose names are 
s^nionymous with bigotry and relentless cruelty, sat in 
judgment on better men, and condemned them to the 
stake. Here stood Farrar, and Hooper, and Bradford, 
and other eminent reformers, the manacled defenders of 
the Protestant faith. 

I have walked round the gallery to explain some of 
the more imposing and important buildings to the 
Frenchman, whom I take to be a man of letters. St. 
Paul's School, close to the churchyard, I had not be- 
fore noticed ; and Newgate, and the Old Bailey Sessions- 
house in the opposite direction, had escaped me. 

Newgate was built either in the reign of Henry 
I., or of Stephen. It took its name from the city 
gate erected near the place, which Vv^as new, compared 
with Ludgate, built more than a thousand years be- 
fore. 

At one period, the prison of Newgate was the recep 
tacle of wretchedness, filth, disease, and contagion ; and 
cartloads of the carcases of those who died of the gaol 
fever were flung, without the rites of sepulture, into 
holes where now Christ churchyard stands. 

The Frenchman is bent on seeing the Thames Tun- 
nel, which he regards as a truly national and grand 
affair. He tells me, that it is the first, but that it will 
not be the last undertaking of the kind. There ! he is 
gone. He has removed his hat from his head, courte- 
ously thanked me for my attentions to a stranger ; made 
me a low bow, and bade me adieu. 

Peace go with thee, thou inhabitant of a light-hearted 



48 LONDON, 

land ! and may the nationalities of thy heart lead thee 
to love thy own country without being unjust to the 
country of another. Pass by in Britain all tk t is un- 
worthy, and take back in thine affectionate temem- 
brance, all that thou findest in her consistent \^*ith hu- 
manity, with virtue, with patriotism, and with piety. 

While the surrounding buildings are lost in the fog, 
the towers of Westminster Abbey are seen distinctly in 
the distance yonder. They appear to be in the clouds. 
How often have I lingered among the goodly monu- 
ments of that costly fabric, Westminster Abbey ; where 
poets, painters, and musicians, statesmen, kings, and he- 
roes, lie entombed ! 

The sceptred hand, the anointed head, 
There moulder with the silent dead, 
For worldly pomp and kingly power, 
Are but the pageants of an hour. 

Where beasts ^vith proud ambition swell, 
Oh what a tale is this to tell 
If kings the shroud of death must wear, 
Can I do better than prepare? 

My companion has just pointed out the imposing 
appearance of the ships below London Bridge. Lying 
as they do, along each side of the river, they resemble 
two hostile fleets in order of battle, just ready to pour 
their devastating thunder into each other's bosoms. 

Lambeth Palace is not visible. Somerset House 
looks proudly down upon the flowing river ; and 
farther to the north-west, the bulky Colosseum spreads 
out its heavy, huge, and dome-crowned walls. 

Turning from Westminster Abbey, where heroes 
slumber, and where crowned heads and mitred brows 
repose, I have been looking for Bunhill-fields, where 
the remains of John Bunyan and Dr. Watts are mou. 



LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF ST. PAUL's, 49 

dering ; and for the neighbouring- cemetery, where the 
dust of John Wesley lies ; but I cannot make out either 
one or the other. 

After lingering long in gazing on the goodly specta* 
cle around us, my companion and I must descend to 
the common level of humanity. We must go down, 
high as we are, even to the churchyard below, haply to 
glean there a salutary reflection : for the thought of 
death is often a salutary medicine to the mind. We 
cannot be too deeply impressed with the solemn truth. 
that " in the midst of life we are in death." 

If thou art trampling on thy fellow man, 

And impiously despising Him on high, 
I fain would warn thee that the fearful ban 

Hangs o'er thy short-lived being, "Thou shalt die;" 
And oh! though learn'd in sorrow's deepest gloom, 

No wijnering words pronounced by mortal breath, 
Can shadow forth the irrevocao.e uoom, 

Of that tremendous curse—" eternal death." 

If thou, repentant, humbly seekest peace, 

Through thy Redeemer, God that peace will give ; 
I bid thee in thy confidence increase. 

And tell thee, that in glory thou shalt live : 
And flaming seraph's or archangel's tongue, 

With heavenly minstrelsy and rapture rife. 
Would fail to make thee comprehend in song, 

The boundless blessing of eternal life. 



THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

ISoT more necessary is it for the health of the body 

that the heart should have room to beat, and the lungs 

to play, than it is for the welfare of a crowded city that 

places of out-door exercise and rational amusement 

5 



60 THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

should be provided. In this point of view, the Parks 
and the Zoological Gardens claim our regard. 

As the number of persons visiting the latter is great, 
so no expense is spared in providing for their entertain- 
ment. The grounds are spacious, the shi ubs and flow- 
ers attractive, and the walks kept in good order ; while 
the birds and beasts of the four quarters of the world 
are put in requisition, to render the entertainment com- 
plete. 

The varied tastes, as well as dispositions of the visi- 
tors, are plainly developed. One gazes on the plumage 
of the feathered race with eager delight ; another en- 
thusiastically surveys the animals, both tame and savage; 
while hundreds, with no strong predilection for either, 
roam among the pleasant parterres of the place, occu- 
pied in observing the company. 

Perhaps, after all, the principal gratification we feel 
in such places is not so much derived from the things 
we see, as from the associations thej^ call forth. There 
is a holiday feeling visible in the visitors, that excites 
something of a similar kind in our own hearts. The 
wonderment of the children at all around them ; their 
awful fear at the sight of the beasts ; their unfeigned 
delight in gazing on the birds ; and their unrepressed 
raptures at the tricks of the monkey tribe ; take us back 
again to the days of our childhood. 

We cannot look at the lion without thinking ot 
Africa, and desert sands, and crocodiles, and snakes, and 
monsters. We cannot gaze on the polar bear without 
placing him on an iceberg. In the instant we are with 
Parry and Ross, near the northern pole, laughing at 
the antics of the Esquimaux, in the twilight of the re- 
gions they inhabit. 



THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 51 

Perhaps I carry this feeling further than many of 
my neighbours ; for the very shrubs and flowers are 
rife with the power of creation, and conjure up scenes 
that are pleasant to me. Half an hour ago did I enter 
the lodge gate, and yet I have not reached the bears. 
A thistle growing on the right, a few yards from the 
lodge, at once took me back to a common, where a 
shaggy donkey was browsing ; while a party of gipsies, 
in the tent they had pitched, were cooking their midday 
meal in the iron pot suspended from three crooked 
sticks. 

Then, again, a prickly holly-bush on the left called 
me away to another scene. It was that of the summit 
of a knolly-field. The morning was frosty, the snow 
crackled under the foot, and the holly-bushes near were 
covered with their heart-cheering red berries. It was 
the sabbath morn, and Giles Ashford was striding along 
the scarcely beaten path, in his well-brushed blue coat 
and big buttons ; while his wife Margery stayed behind 
to knock out the snow from her patten against the 
stile. 

It is pleasant thus to link together, by association, 
the country and the city. As I stand here, musing, 
decent domestics, and cleanly attired persons evidently 
of the poorer class, pass by to share, with the carriage 
company, the gratification of the gardens. I love to 
see this : gentle and simple walking, side by side, in 
quest of rational amusement. Why cannot the whole 
creation be linked and bound together in the bond of 
brotherhood ? 

Well, here are the bears, brown and black ; and 
there stands a gentlemanly figure hardly looking at 
them. He has seen them before over and over again ; 



62 THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

he has lost the enjoyment of novelty. Poor man 1 he 
is gro\vn too wise to be happy. But here are beings 
of a different kind : half-a-dozen rosy, laughing children, 
and their mammas. Happy lads ! How they come, 
eagerly pressing before the rest ; and these smiling 
girls are their sisters : one can hardly toddle along the 
gravel walk. Now we shall see something worth 
seeing ; the fresh feeling of youthful hearts called forth 
in wonder and delight. He in the white trowsers is 
evidently thinking of the bear in Robinson Crusoe, that 
Friday made to dance on the bough. The little toddler 
looks up with an awe-struck face, to ask whether they 
will bite ; and mamma seems not quite sure that the 
climbing bear will not leap from the top of the pole. 

It appears but as yesterday, when I stood on this very 
spot with the Rajah Ram-mohun Roy at my elbow. 
Since then he has been called away from the world. 
How many of those around me may be visiting the 
gardens for the first and the last time ! 

The view from this place is interesting : the company 
in groups ; the pigeons on the roof yonder ; the pond ; 
the fowls ; the birds ; and some of the animals. I could 
stand on this bench for an hour. 

I have given a nut or two to the red and yellow, and 
the red and blue maccaws. How they climb their cage, 
holding the wires with their crooked bills ! They ap- 
pear to have more interest, when we think that some of 
them are from the land where the slaves are set free, 
and others from the sultry clime where the mighty Am- 
azon, greatest of rivers, rolls his flood for more than 
three thousand miles. 

The grisly bear nmst be prodigiously powerful; wha* 
great limbs ! what fearful claws ! Hark ! scarcely can 



THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 53 

there be a sound in the universe more desolately dole- 
ful ! — it is that of the sloth bear. But I must hasten 
onward. ******** 
What a number of animals have I gazed on ! ante- 
lopes, nylghaus, deer, zebras, and kangaroos ; wolves, 
panthers, leopards, lions, and hyenas. How varied is 
the form ! how diverse are the habits of the brute crea- 
tion ! and yet not a limb not a muscle among them, but 
what is suited to the economy and welfare of its posses- 
sor. How infinitely incapable is man to estimate the 
Great Creator. 

*' In these his lowliest works !" 

If there were no other advantage attending a visit to 
these gardens than that of observing the endless variety 
of the animal creation, and the infinite wisdom mani- 
fested in their forms and adaptation to their several 
habits and modes of existence, it would abundantly re- 
pay the reflecting visitor for his pains. 

Nor is it unworthy of a thought, that we are highly 
favoured in being able to inspect these creatures at our 
ease, not one of them making us afraid. Here can the 
wild boar be seen without the dread of his tusks ; and 
the huge rhinoceros, free from the danger of his horn. 
Apes, baboons, and monkeys, play their antics with no 
annoyance to the bystander ; and tapirs, peccaries, foxes, 
badgers, and wild cats ; jackals, opossums, squirrels, 
lemurs, and lynxes ; with porcupines, racoons, beavers, 
and otters, may be observed at leisure, without incon- 
venience. 

What a goodly collection of the feathered race 1 the 

white-bosomed pelican; the bare-necked vulture; the 

strong-winged condor : and the crooked beaked, iron-tal* 

oned eagle. One is lost among such a profusion of 

5* 



54 THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

birds and water fjwl : the warlike ostrich ; the emu ; 
the cassowary ; and the crane ; the towering falcon ; the 
painted parrot, and the crimson-feathered flamingo ; 
with a hundred other kinds of a smaller size. These 
are the works of God ! Every specimen, perfect in its 
kind, proclaiming his Almighty care ! Infinite Wisdom 
comprehends what to us is incomprehensible. Of what an 
innumerable family is God the alm.ighty, the indulgent 
Father. He says, " Every beast of the forest is mine, and 
the cattle upon a thousand hills. I know all the fowls of 
the mountains; and the wild beasts of the field are mine." 

What amazing antlers have the wapiti deer! and what 
a merciful provision is the act of shedding them, when 
their weight becomes burdensome ! 

The elephant is in the pond ; how he rolls about his 
giant bulk, like a huge leviathan ! Now he has dived 
altogether beneath the surface. Again he emerges as 
an island in the water, and slowly stalks forward, dis- 
continuing his watery gambols. 

Who can observe the childlike obedience of the bulky 
animal to his keeper, without reading therein a fulfil- 
ment of the promise made by the Almighty to Noah 
and his descendants ? — " And the fear of you, and the 
dread of you, shall be upon every beast of the earth and 
upon every fowl of the air, and upon all that moveth 
upon the earth." 

And these are the giraffes, the objects of general attrac- 
tion. Stately creatures, what pigmies ye make of us ! 
The cloven foot, the over-lapping lip, the tufted tail, the 
spotted body, and the towering neck, are all worthy of 
a separate regard. The eye has the fullness and the 
fearlessness, though not the fierceness, of that of the 
ostrich ; and the black, sleek, serpent-like tongue, has a 



THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 65 

character altogether its own. What news from afar, 
fleet coursers of the desert sands ? bear ye no message 
from the wilderness ? 

Your feet have trod the burning sand, 

Where the lion's lair is known ; 
Where panthers prowl, and jackals cry, 

And fiery blasts are blown. 
And ye have cropp'd the desert tree. 

In haunts where man's exiled ; 
And heard your Maker's mighty voice 

In the tempest of the wild. 

It seems but a short time since, in one of my visits to 
this place, in turning abruptly into the side walk near 
the giraffe house, I came upon two oriental figures, in 
earnest conversation. For the moment I had quite for- 
gotten that the giraffes were accompanied by Arabs, so 
that I was both surprised and pleased by the unexpected 
meeting. 

The most imposing m appearance of the two was 
Monsieur Thibauld, a French traveller of much infor- 
mation, speaking seven languages, though not conver- 
sant with the English. He had succeeded in the enter- 
prise of taking the giraffes in the desert, and bringing 
them in safety to England. 

The following extract from his letter, dated Malta, 
Jan. 8, 1836, states some particulars relative to the cap- 
ture of the largest of the giraffes : — 

" It was on the 1 5th of August, at the southwest of 
Kordofan, that I saw the first two giraffes. A rapid 
chase, on horses accustomed to the fatigues of the de- 
sert, put us in possession, at the end of three hours, of 
the largest of the two : the mother of one of those now 
in my charge. Unable to take her alive, the Arabs 
killed her with blows of the sabre, and cutting her to 
pieceSj carried the meat to the head-quarters which we 



56 THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

had established in a wooded situation ; an arrangement 
necessary for our own comfort, and to secure pasturage 
for the camels of both sexes which we had brought 
with us in aid of the object of our chase. We deferred 
until the morrow the pursuit of the young giraffe, which 
my companions assured me they would have no diffi- 
culty in again discovering. The Arabs are very fond 
of the animal. I partook of their repast. The live 
embers were quickly covered with slices of the meat, 
which I found to be excellent eating. 

" On the following day, the 16th of August, the 
Arabs started at day-break in search of the young one, 
of which we had lost sight not far from our camp. The 
sandy nature of the soil of the desert is well adapted 
to afford indications to a hunter, and in a very short time 
we were on the track of the animal which was the ob- 
ject of our pursuit. We followed the traces with rapi- 
dity and in silence, cautious to avoid alarming the ani- 
mal while it was yet at a distance from us. Unwearied 
myself, and anxious to act in the same manner as the 
Arabs, I followed them impatiently, and at 9 o'clock in 
the morning I had the happiness to find myself in pos- 
session of the giraffe. A premium was given to the 
hunter whose horse had first come up with the animal; 
and this reward is the more merited, as the laborious 
chase is pursued in the midst of brambles and thorny 
trees. 

" Possessed of the GirafTe, it was necessary to rest 
for three or four days, in order to render it sufficiently 
tame. During this period an Arab constantly holds it 
at the end of a long cord. By degrees it gets accus- 
tomed to the presence of man, and takes a little nourish- 
ment. To furnish milk for it, I had brought with me 



THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 57 

female camels. It became gradually reconciled to its 
condition, and was soon willing to follow, in short stages, 
the route of our caravan, 

" The first giraffe, captured at four days' journey to 
the south-west of Kordofan, will enable us to form some 
judgment as to its probable age at present ; as I have 
observed its growth and its mode of life. When it first 
came into my hands, it was necessary to insert a finger 
into its mouth in order to deceive it into a belief that the 
nipple of the dam was there ; then it sucked freely. 
According to the opinion of the Arabs, and the length 
of time I have had it, this first giraffe cannot, at the ut- 
most, be more than nineteen months old. Since I have 
had it, its size has fully doubled." 

In the days of my youth I read over the wanderings 
of Munojo Park with delight, and of Monsieur Vaillant 
chasing the giraffe; and suddenly to be in company 
with those who had passed through the same scenes, 
was a treat to me. The figure, dress, beard, and mous- 
tachios of Monsieur Thibauld, rendered him an ob- 
ject of much attraction ; in conversation he was very 
animated. I told him that I had seen a giraffe years 
before in Paris, but that I had never seen a giraffe hun- 
ter ; and in parting I obtained one of his best bows, by 
the remark that he had outdone other Afiican travel- 
lers ; for that Monsieur Vaillant only knew how to kill 
giraffes, but Monsieur Thibauld knew how to take them 
alive. 

How rapidly has time flown ! but there will be time 
yet for a hasty peep at the Surrey Gardens. I must es- 
cape by the turnstile gate. 

***** 

And these are the Gardens of Surrey ! I have wan- 



58 THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

dered through the various avenues of this agreeable 
place ; given a bun to the bears, and nuts to the mon- 
keys. I have stroked the antelopes ; patted the trunks 
of the elephants ; placed my hands on the scaly backs 
of the boa and the python ; and am now standing near 
the eagle-rock ; it is a pleasant spot. 

This running stream, with the tall green flags grow- 
ing on each side, and the ponds almost covered over 
with the broad leaves and the fair flowers of the water- 
lily, remind me of quiet, retired nooks and corners in 
country places, where the wild duck dives in the se- 
cluded reedy pool, and the moor-hen hides herself under 
the overhanging branches of the trees. 

The lake and the drooping willows form a lovely 
scene, and recall every thing that we have witnessed of 
silvery streams and luxuriant foliage. 

Would you gaze with emotions far purer than mirth 
On one of the fairest creations of earth. 
Come at even and breathe the pure breath of the breeze 
From the seat by the lake, 'nealh these wild willow-trees! 

I could loiter here long without weariness. Here 
grows a scarlet-flowered geranium, just such a one as I 
have seen in a window of an alms-house; where might 
be discerned the aged inmate, with her spectacles, bend- 
ing over the Book of life, the Holy scriptures of eternal 
truth. I love the gilly-flower, because it will bloom 
even on a mouldering wall, and smile in desolate places ; 
and I love the geranium, because it gives cheerfulness 
to the abodes of poverty. 

The principle points of these Surrey Gardens are, 
the beautiful lake, the eagle-rock, the choice collection 
of forest trees, and the great superiority of many of 
the wild animals ; but I must not omit the glass con- 
servatory. 



THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 59 

A dome in the centre, deservedly praised, 
Transparent as crystal, is artfully raised, 
Where African lions, and tigers untamed, 
And sloths and hyenas, for savageness famed, 
And leopards and ladies, and monsters and men, 
Securely may meet in the very same pen. 

Come with me, and gaze on the beasts ; the hyenas, 
the leopards, and the tigers ; but especially the lions. 
The keeper is now feeding them. Is there any thing 
that you have ever conceived of the monarch of the 
woods, that is not realized in that noble Nero ? Regard 
his flowing mane, his giant limbs. 

What a majesty in his mien ! What an untameable 
glare in his lordly eye ! His jaws are opening ; what 
a deep, unearthly, scream-like roar ! Even here it is 
terrible. What must it be when resounding through 
the forest ? 

The serious spectator at such a scene as this traverses 
the wilds of Africa, with the missionary Campbell ; or, 
familiar with Bible associations, goes back to the days 
of Daniel, when the Eternal laid his hand on the mouth 
of the lions, and the prophet of the Lord remained in 
safety among them. 

Many of the different exhibitions which take place 
here are of an attractive character, but they are sad tres- 
passes on the quietude and repose of the place, and pre- 
vent that neatness and order which might otherwise 
more universally prevail. 

The Regent's Park and the Surrey Gardens afford 
much gratification, and should not be visited without 
some profitable reflection. The beasts and birds of the 
four quaters of the earth are here assembled, bearing 
witness, by their captivity, to the pre-eminence with 
which man has been endowed by his Creator. The 
swiftness of the giraffe and the ostrich; the soaring 



60 THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

flight of the falcon and the eagle : the matchless stiengtb 
of the rhinoceros and the elephant : and the rapacity of 
the tiger and the lion ; have not been able to protect 
their possessors from becoming the captives of man. If, 
then, God has thus given to man dominion over the 
" beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air," how 
grateful ought he to be for the gift of his pre-eminence ! 
and how anxious to use it to the glory of the Almighty 
Giver ! If the Lord is " good to all, and his tender 
mercies are over all his works," how mindful ought 
man to be, to exercise forbearance, and kindness, and 
mercy, to every creature committed to his care ! 



THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 

The National Gallery of Paintings that I am abc^ 
to visit, is in the new building there, with the Corinthian- 
pillared portico, erected on the site of the Riding-school 
of the Royal Mews, Charing Cross. The building, 
though a fine one, is not considered equal to its national 
object ; and it is expected that another edifice will be 
erected as a more worthy representative of the taste, en- 
terprise, and resourses of the British nation. Had Mr. 
Angerstein, who collected the principal paintings now 
placed therein, lived to see them in this national edifice, 
it might have made him proud ; but he is gone where 
pride is unknown, and where we shall shortly follow, 
for " our days upon earth are a shadow," Job viii. 9. 

Mr. Angerstein was a gentleman of great property ; 
ne was, also, an ardent admirer of talent, and with an 



THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 61 

unsparing hand he gave of his abundance to obtain paint- 
ings of the first masters. Favourable opportunities 
presenting themselves, he amassed a splendid collection 
of pictures, principally of the Italian school. These 
pictures, after his death, Avere purchased by the British 
government, at the suggestion of lord Liverpool, then 
first lord of the treasury. The foundation of a national 
gallery of pictures now being laid, munificent donors 
came forward with their gifts, and thus, with a few other 
government purchases, the present collection of paintings 
has been formed. 

This is a goodly area, and St. Martin's Church, the 
club-houses, Northumberland House, the equestrian 
statue of king Charles, and the pillar erecting to the 
memory of Nelson, all add to its imposing appearance. 
But now let me mount up the steps to the entrance of 
the National Gallery. Many others, I see, are shaping 
their course in that direction. 

The National Gallery and the exhibition of the 
Royal Academy are both under the roof of the same 
building, and here, in the summer months, especially 
in May and June, a continual throng of visitors from 
town and country may seen. Nobility in their corneted 
carriages ; gentry in their several vehicles, and trades- 
people, country folk, young persons, and well-dressed 
domestics in their holiday clothes on foot. At this 
moment, the sunny sky is covered with dappled clouds, 
the foot-paths are crowded with well-dressed people, 
and a buoyant heart is bounding in my bosom. 

The paintings in the National Gallery are by no 
means numerous, though in point of excellence they 
are entitled to high consideration. It is scarcely neces- 
sary to say that the difference between the National 
6 



62 THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 

Gallery and the exhibition of the Royal Academy is 
this : — the latter contains the works of modern painters^ 
and is opened only for a month or two in the year, on 
payment of a shilling, while the former consists, for 
the most part, of the works of ancient masters, and is 
open gratuitously for a much longer period. 

There are very many who affect a knowledge of 
paintings ; very few who really possess it. Among 
the countless admirers of Rubens, and Raphael, An- 
gelo, Claude, and Titian, not one in ten, perhaps, is 
able to distinguish a copy from an original. That the 
generality of people should know but little of an art 
with which thev seldom come into contact, is nothinsr 
wonderful, nor is it by any means a reflection upon 
them. Ignorance is only discreditable to those who 
have neglected proper opportunities to become wise ; 
but when we affect to know what we know not, and to 
explain to others what we do not ourselves understand, 
we lay ourselves open to just reproach. 

Well do I remember that in walking with a party 
vhrough the different apartments of a certain castle, 
many ^rears ago, a young man of agreeable person and 
manners took on himself to point out to us the most 
valuable paintings in the picture gallery — to explain 
their subjects, and to make known to the uninitiated 
the style and peculiarities of the several artists, whose 
wonder-working hands had flung on the canvass such 
vivid representations of breathing things. But though 
he boldly ventured on his enterprise, it was soon per- 
ceived by more than one of his auditory, that he had un- 
dertaken much more than he could creditably perform : 
presuming on the want of knov/ledge in those around 
him, he blundered on till a remark or two from a more 



THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 63 

diffident character than himself, constrained him to 
give up his enterprise, and to fal.' into the rear of the 
party. 

It is easy to mingle with common-place remarks 
such terms as " keeping," '• breadth of light," " chiaro- 
obscuro," "depth of colouring," and "perspective," and 
to talk of the " formal power of the Florentine school," 
the " dignity, grace, and matchless majesty of the Ro- 
man," and "the blazing splendour of the A^enetian," 
because these terms may be gained w^ithout a loiow- 
ledge of the things signified. Most of us in our boyish 
days, have read in Enfield's Speaker, of the would-be 
critic, w^ho so learnedly spoke of " the colouring of 
Titian — the expression of Rubens — the grace of Ra- 
phael — the purity of Dominichino — the corregiosity of 
Correggio — the learning of the Poussins — the airs of 
Guido — the taste of the Caracci — and the grand con- 
tour of Angelo." 

Were 1 to attempt to pass myself off as a painter, it 
would soon be discovered how little claim I had to such 
a distinction. The advantage, however, of having visited 
ihe National Gallery before, wall enable me to make a 
few observations that may not be useless to the reader 
who is a stranger to the place. With upright inten- 
tions and kindly feeling, a very little knowledge may 
be turned to a good account. 

There are those who, catalogue in hand, can go 
chrough a picture gallery in a straightforward way, 
beginning at number one, and proceeding without 
omission to the end ; but my pleasure is doubled in 
feeling at liberty to rove where I list, to wander as 
freely as I would in a flower garden. I am now op- 
posite Hogarth's pictures of Marriage a la Mode. 



64 THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 

Hogarth has been called a moralist among painters, 
aiming, by his productions, to rebuke and benefit man- 
kind ; but good and evil are too often blended together. 
In the six paintings before me, great skill is conspicu- 
ouSj and the lesson, that a course of profligacy leads to 
ruin and destruction, is strikingly set forth ; but the 
pencil of Hogarth, like that of many other painters, 
was not so chaste as a Christian spectator might desire, 
though in the series before me it has evidently been un- 
der stricter control than ordinary. It would be a difficult 
task to draw a boundary line for a painter not to pass, 
and a certain degree of freedom must be permitted, per- 
haps, to the pencil ; but, with every desire to avoid 
prudery and hypercritical remarks, it seem to me, that 
in a picture, where the artist's object is a moral one, 
the very appearance of evil, if not necessary to point 
the moral, should be avoided. It is an adage, that. 

" Vice to be hated needs but to be seen." 

But this adage is too frequently misunderstood. When 
vice is seen in connexion with all its degradation, sin- 
fulness, and punishment, it may be hated ; but when 
seen in an alluring shape, without these accessaries, no 
hatred is excited by its representation. 

This is the celebrated picture of the Raising of La- 
zarus, painted by Sebastian del Piombo, the most valu- 
able in the whole collection. Though painted by Sa- 
bastian, it was designed by Michael Angelo, who, it is 
thought, in his impatience to see his vivid conception 
embodied, snatched the pencil from the hand of Sebas- 
tian, and in a kind of impetuous enthusiasm, dashed on 
the canvass the admirable figure of Lazarus, leaving 
untouched the remainder of the group. 



THE NATIONAL GALLERY, 65 

How little can we understand the feelings of those 
who are influenced by emotions we have never experi- 
enced ! The enthusiasm of the painter, and the fervour, 
and almost phrensy of the musician and poet are perfect- 
ly unintelligible to those who are strangers to the power 
of music, painting, and poetry. 

For this picture it is said Napoleon Buonaparte 
oflered the sum of ten thousand guineas, which was 
refused. Its worth has been estimated at fifteen thou- 
sand ; but the value of paintings is frequently nominal, 
and especially in cases where there is no desire to part 
with them. 

This picture, though by no means a pleasing one in 
its general character, has in it some splendid painting, 
independent of the figure of Lazarus ; and the Chris- 
tian spectator will not fail, while he gazes on the sha- 
dowy representation, to ponder also on the reality of the 
miracle performed by our Saviour, of raising the dead 
to life. See how impatient Lazarus is to get rid of his 
grave-clothes ! while his hand is putting off a part of 
them, one of his feet is busy too, in stripping from his 
legs the bandage with which they are bound. How 
sublime and simple is the New Testament record of 
this miracle ! " And when he had thus spoken, he 
cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth. And he 
that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with 
grave-clothes : and his face wae bound about with a 
napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him, and let 
him go," John xi. 43, 44. 

And am I really gazing on a portrait by Raphael, 

the first of portrait painters? Yes. Between three 

and four hundred years ago, the eye of Raphael, now 

turned to dust, was lighted up with enthusiasm, and his 

^* 



66 THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 

hand, now mingled with the clay, was actively em 
ployed in painting this portrait of pope Julius u. Juli- 
us was the patron of Raphael and Michael Angelo, and 
a liberal supporter of literature and the fine arts ; but 
perhaps this picture, even more than all the actions he 
ever performed, has contributed to hand down his 
name to posterity. 

The pictures by Parmegiano, Annibale and Ludo- 
vico Caracci, Guido, Correggio, Dominichino, Gaspar 
and Nicholas Poussin, Both, Paulo Veronese, Salvator 
Rosa, and Rembrandt, are highly valued. I remember 
once reading an anecdote of the latter artist, wherein 
it was asserted, that on a certain occasion he used his 
colours so freely in painting a portrait, that the painted 
nose stood almost as high above the canvass, as the real 
nose did on the face of the person whose portrait he was 
painting. 

The visitor to the gallery must pause on the paintings 
of Vandye, Teniers, and Cuyp, nor hastily pass those 
of Wilson, Gainsborough, and Copley, though of a 
more modern date. The varied excellences of their 
different styles will excite pleasure, and a disposition to 
compare one master with another. 

There are in the gallery nine or ten pictures of 
Claude de Lorraine, a costly group, most of them of 
the highest excellence. One of them represents the 
halting of Rebecca and her attendants, awaiting the ar- 
rival of Isaac. The best judges of Claude are the 
loudest in his praise. The general warmth, the sunny 
glow, that pervades many of the paintings of this ac- 
complished master, is truly astonishing. Claude, thou 
wert indeed a painter ! 

The vigour and vivid colouring of some of the pic- 



THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 6T 

tures of Rubens are also wonderful. There is so much 
of bloom upon the flesh, so much of breathing life and 
buoyant spirit imparted to the figures, that you seem to 
be holding communion with the livinof rather than with 
the dead. 

The painter's pencil with his ardour glows, 
And life and spirit on the canvass throws. 

The olden masters have an excellent auxiliary in fa 
ther Time, for he mellows their dazzling colours, har- 
monizes their strengthy lights and shades, and imparts 
a richness, a tone, and a finish, that a modern painting 
cannot possess. The eye sees less than the mind feels 
in gazing on them. 

There is much to be seen here besides the paintings. 
Groups of living beings, full of character and origi- 
nality. Three sailors have just walked in with blue 
jackets. There ! I have hit off a sketch of one of them 
— a veteran, in a canvass hat, as he now sits, with one 
leg flung across the other, as independent as a lord. He 
is gazing on the Holy Family, by Murillo. Well, a 
rough sailor has some tender touches of feeling in his 
heart, and that painting of Murillo is as likely as any 
that I know to call them forth. There are a few among 
the company walking about with their hats in their 
hands, and well would it be could they prevail on the 
rest, by their more civilized, courteous, and respectful 
demeanour, to follow their example ; but, no, it wiL not 
do. It is only striving against an irresistible stream. 
The manners of the poorer and the middle classes of 
English people are growing freer and bolder every day. 
The gentleman of fifty years ago is not now very often 
to be seen. 



68 THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 

I have stood for ten minutes opposite Gaspar Pous- 
sin's landscape representing Abraham preparing to sa- 
crifice his son Isaac. Stand in a good light ; gaze for 
awhile, without speaking or stirring, on those influen- 
tial depths of colour, those glorious masses of dark 
green foliage, and if you find not yourself breathing 
the fresh air, and holding communion with nature in 
her rural retreats, conclude at once that you have no 
soul for painting. 

There are capital paintings in the gallery by the 
three presidents of the Royal Academy, sir Joshua 
Reynolds, West, and sir Thomas Lawrence. The 
Graces, by Reynolds ; Christ healing the Sick in the 
Temple, by West ; and the portrait of Benjamin West, 
by Lawrence, are all admirable. The last picture is 
now before me. It ha? a speaking face, and is in the 
very best style of portrait painting. Sir Thomas's pen- 
cil was a gifted one. 

The picture by Nicholas Poussin of the Plague of 
Ashdod, is of an arresting kind. The Philistines were 
victors, for they had overthrown the Israelites in battle : 
but no sooner did they place the captured ark of the co- 
venant in the temple of Dagon at Ashdod, than it fell 
down, and a loathsome plague raged among the Philis- 
tines. See that unconscious babe sucking nourishment 
from its plague-struck and deceased mother ! Struck 
by the piteous spectacle, there are not wanting those to 
take away the child from contagion and death. 

Some painters of woadrous power do not succeed in 
producing pleasing pictures. Nature may be correctly 
represented without affording satisfaction to the specta- 
tor. On the other hand, some painters are happy in 
the selection nnd execution of their designs, so that you 



THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 6& 

cannot gaze on tlieir productions without pleasurable 
emotions. Murillo's Holy Family, Wilkie's Blind 
Fiddler, and the Village Festival, are striking illustra- 
tions of this remark. 

As the lover of nature gazes with delight on the 
varied objects of creation, so the lover of art revels in 
the glowing and truthful productions of master minds. 
Five hours ago, I noticed a young man seated on the 
bench opposite a painting of Canaletti, a View on the 
Grand Canal, Venice ; and he is sitting in the same 
spot now. A ten minutes' conversation with him has 
told me that he came up from the country almost on 
purpose to study Canaletti. Oh, how enthusiastically, 
how extravagantly, he has been pointing out to me the 
different excellences of the picture, dwelling on them, 
and especially on the fluidity and luminousness of the 
water, with ecstacy ! Were Canaletti alive and present, 
I doubt not he would willingly bow down, and kiss his 
feet. There he sits, with a pencil in his hand of a su- 
perior kind, which has cost him three shillings and six- 
pence ; and from a word or two which escaped him, I 
suspect it was nearly the last three-and-sixpence he had 
in his purse. 

I do love to hear a man talk who is in right earnest, 
whether he speak of temporal or eternal things. We 
get no good in going to sleep when we should be wide 
awake, or in loitering when we should be making pro- 
gress. It may appear a little abrupt, perhaps, to go at 
once from a modern painter to the shepherd king ; but 
I never read the ninety-fifth Psalm without thinking 
that David was in earnest — that he flung his soul into 
his words, when he burst out as he did into the — " O 
come, let us sing unto the Lord ; let us make a joyful 



70 THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 

noise to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before 
his presence with thanksgiving and make a joyful noise 
unto him with psalms." 

This picture of Canaletti is a fine production. Alas! 
how is the proud and splendid city of the Adriatic now 
humbled ! Venice that was, and Venice that is, are in- 
deed different places. Her greatness is departed. 

There are many splendid specimens of art, magnifi 
cent triumphs of the pencil, in the gallery, to which, 
on account of the freedom exercised in their design and 
execution, particular allusion cannot be made. One of 
two things must be admitted, either that the general 
conception of modesty and propriety entertained by the 
christian world is too strict, or that painters in their 
principles and practice are too free. Without any affec- 
tation, I am quite inclined to think that the latter is the 
more just, and certainly the more safe conclusion of the 
two. The morality of a painting reaches the judgment 
only by passing through the lengthy avenues of reason 
and reflection, while its immorality influences the pas- 
sions instantaneously through the eye. Hardly can I 
persuade myself that my error is to be too precise and 
severe in judging the thoughts, words, or deeds of my 
fellow men, though I do oftentimes fear that I fall into 
the opposite error. 

Many of the paintings are from scriptural subjects, 
and beautifully do they embody them ; so that he who is 
a Bible reader, as he regards them, cannot fail to go in 
his thoughts to the blessed volume of Divine instruction. 

Even here, while gazing on the whirlwind energy 
of Michael Angelo ; the fiery vigour of Rubens ; the 
rich and glorious colouring of Titian ; and the deep and 
grand dark-green masses of Caspar Poussin's pencil, 



THE NATIONAL GALLEPwY. 71 

we ought to acknowledge an adorable Creator, in these 
imitations of his works, as well as in the Avonders of 
his creation, and the wisdom and goodness of his holy- 
word. The sunlit sky, with all its glorious hues, the 
hills and vales, the endowments of mind and body, and 
all the pleasure-giving faculties of man, spring from 
the same Almighty source. God is wise : " There is 
no searching of his understanding," Isa. xl. 28. " Great 
is the Lord, and greatly to be praised," Psa. cxlv. 3. 
God is good : " full of compassion ; slow to anger, and 
of great mercy," Psa. cxlv. 8. 



THE MONUMENT. 



Yesterday I was roaming the fields in the neigh- 
bourhood of Hornsey woods and Muswell hill, poking 
in the ditches, pulling down the honey-suckles in the 
hedges, peering into the long grass to watch the short- 
legged ladybird and, long-legged grasshopper ; and 
every now and then sitting on the stiles to rest myself, 
and wipe my spectacles ; and where am I now ? Why, 
on the top of the Monument, looking around on London's 
proud city lying below. 

You will say that a man, at my time of life, might be 
well satisfied to keep his feet on level ground, and not 
give way to the pitiful ambition of getting above the 
heads of his neighbours. Well ! well ! say what you 
will, the truth is the truth, aud I will not disguise it ; 
whether it be wise or foolish, right or wrong in me to 
have mounted so high, here I am. Yes ! here is Old 



72 . THE MONUMENT. 

Humphrey on the top of the Monument ; the breeze 
blowing so freshly that he can hardly keep his hat upon 
his head. 

While I pencil down these remarks, I am obliged to 
get to what a sailor Avould call, the " lee side" of the 
column, and rest my paper on the iron railing, for the 
blustering wind pays no more respect to an old man 
than it does to a young one. There ! a half sheet of 
thick post has been bloA^m from my hand, and is flying 
and fluttering far above the highest houses in the direc- 
tion of Leadenhall Marlcet. 

It is said that a man ought not to ascend a high hill, 
without coming down again wiser and better than he 
went up. I cannot tell whether this will be my case ; 
but I knoAV very well that it ought to be, after all the 
labour it has cost me to clamber up the three hundred 
and forty-five steps of this winding staircase, to say no- 
thing of the sixpence given to the doorkeeper, and 
another paid for his little book. My legs ache, and 
my knees shake with the exertion. Time has been 
when I could have run up such a place as this without 
stopping ; when T could have skipped up two or three 

steps at a time as nimbly as But it is idle to boast 

of what I have been ; my aching joints tell me what I 
am now. 

A comfortable seat would be a great luxury at this 
moment, that I might recover my breath, and collect 
myself a little ; but such a thing is not to be had for 
love or money. I feel what I suppose is common to 
the visitors of this place, a slight sensation of insecurity, 
of danger, and fear ; an inclination to keep close to the 
column, and o the doorway leading down the staircase. 
Now and tht3n, too, my imagination gets the better of 



THE MONUMENT. 73 

me, and I fancy myself plunging down headlong from 
this fearful height. We are but poor creatures when 
placed in situations of novelty and apparent danger. 
Pheugh ! my hat was all but gone, and I could very ill 
spare it under my present circumstances. I half begin 
to doubt the Avisdom of my ambitious enterprise. I will 
tie my pocket handkerchief round my neck, for the wind 
searches me. There, I shall now do pretty well. 

The book in the blue cover, that I bought down be- 
low, informs me that the great London fire, in the year 
1 666, which this monument is meant to commemorate, 
consumed the buildings on four hundred and thirty-six 
acres of ground, four hundred streets and lanes, thirteen 
thousand two hundred houses, the cathedral church of 
St. Paul, eighty-nine parish churches, six chapels, 
Guildhall, Royal Exchange, Custom House, Blackweil 
Hall, divers hospitals and libraries, fifty-two of the com- 
panies' halls, and a vast number of other stately edifices ; 
together with three of the city gates, four bridges, the 
prisons of Newgate and the Fleet, Pouhry and Wood- 
street compters ; the loss of which, together with that of 
the merchandize and household furniture, by the best 
calculation, amounted to ten millions seven hundred and 
thirty thousand five hundred pounds. 

I am now trying to imagine myself surrounded by 
this most terrible conflagration. Oh the distress, the 
misery, the despair, that must have wrung the hearts of 
the houseless and homeless muhitude ! Yet, see how 
mercy was mingled with judgment ; only eight human 
lives were lost by this fearful visitation ; and the plague, 
which had long raged in the city, was stayed by the 
devouring flames ! 

The account given of the fire thrills one's very soul. 
7 



74 



THE MONUMENT. 



"then did the city ^hake indeed, and the inhabitants did 
tremble, and fled away in great amazement from their 
houses, lest the flames should devour them. Rattle, 
rattle, rattle, was the noise which the fire struck upon 
the ear round about, as if there had been a thousand 
iron chariots beating upon the stones ; and if you 
opened your eye to the opening of the streets where the 
fire was come, you might see, in some places, whole 
streets at once in flames, that issued forth as if they had 
been so many great forges from the opposite windows, 
which, folding together, united into one great flame 
throughout the whole street ; and then you might see 
the houses tumble, tumble, tumble from one end of the 
street to the other, with a great crash, leaving the foun- 
dations open to the view of the heavens. 

" And now horrible flakes of fire mount up to the 
sky, and the yellow smoke of London ascended up 
towards heaven, like the smoke of a great furnace — a 
smoke so great as darkened the sun at noonday. If, at 
any time, the sun peeped forth, it looked red like blood. 
The cloud of smoke was so great, that travellers did 
ride at noonday some miles together in the shadow 
thereof, though there were no other cloud beside to be 
seen in the sky." 

Surely no one should ascend this towering column 
without putting up a prayer to the Father of mercies, 
that London may be, for ever, spared the repetition of 
such a dire calamity. But now let me look around. 

London, as seen from this place, is a continuous mass 
of brickwork, slate roofs, windows, and red chimney- 
pots, studded over pretty freely with the white towers 
and dark spires of churches, while curling smoke is 
rising in all directions from the unnumbered streets. 



THE MONUMENT. 75 

The rumbling noise of carts, wagons, cabs, coaches, 
omnibuses, and carriages is incessant ; like the roar of 
the restless ocean, it allows no respite — loud, heavy, mo- 
notonous, and continual. 

My fellow men are the same restless beings when 
seen from this point of view, as from any other ; the 
same busy, bustling, selfish attention to their individual 
interests is visible. The loaded porters are hurrying 
down the hill to the steam packets ; the cab-drivers and 
coachmen are lashing their jaded horses up the hill 
with their fares ; the merchants are hastening on 
'Change; the policemen are slowly pacing their rounds ; 
the letter carriers are performing their active duties ; 
gentlemen are promenading the streets ; ladies are 
shopping, either in their carriages or on foot; and 
idlers and pleasure-takers are abroad, going to and fro, 
according to their several inclinations. 

Hark ! the big bell of St. Paul's Cathedral is strik- 
ing the hour. The resounding strokes are as if a giant 
were smiting his brazen buckler with his spear ! What 
says the clamorous monster to the busy world below ? 
What warning has he to give to Old Humphrey? 
" Mortal ! prepare for immortality." A dozen church 
clocks are now repeating aloud the solemn injunction. 

It is a serious thought to entertain, while so many 
are striving with all their souls to get through this bad 
world, that so few are striving to get to a better. The 
bread which perishes is sought after more than the 
bread of life, and the gewgaws of time more ardently 
pursued than the glories of eternity. 

The public streets that appear so crowded, when we 
are in them, seem but thinly populated when seen from 
this great elevation, for now we see the real space be- 



76 THE MONUMENT. 

tween one person and another. Even London Bridge 
has comparatively few people upon it. 

What a Lilliputian world it is below me. Dimin- 
ished in size as they are by my position, the very carts 
and wagons are playthings ; the huge dray-horse is 
but a Shetland pony ; and the men and women are 
merely respectable puppets. It would do a proud man 
good, could he see himself in the street from the top of 
the monument ! 

The more distant objects do not appear to be so visi- 
bly affected, for we expect them to be diminished ; they 
are those near the base of this mighty column that strike 
us as extraordinary. Wagons have no wheels, horses 
have no legs, and men and women are all hats and bon- 
ets, coats and shawls. 

The chimney-pots, seen in all directions, are like the 
open mouths of so many cannons pointed at the skies. 
What a dreadful distance it is to the ground ! While I 
look down perpendicularly, the strong iron railing on 
which I lean, seems but a poor security. What if it 
should give way ! The thought is horrible, and yet, 
horrible as it is, most likely it has entered the heads of 
hundreds visiting this giddy height. 

Six persons have flung themselves from the monu- 
ment. A poor weaver, in the year 1750, was the first. 
In 1788, a baker of the name of John Craddock, fol- 
lowed his dreadful example. Lyon Levy, a diamond 
merchant, committed the same rash act in the year 1810 ; 
and the names of Margaret Moyes, of a youth, and of 
a young woman, must now be added to the list of those 
who have thus dared against the commands of God to 
rush into eternity. It would be difficult to assign any 
other probable reasor* for their adopting so dreadful a 



THE MONUMENT. 77 

mode of quitting the world than a stronger than ordi- 
nary determination to get rid of life: an inflexible re- 
solve that no possible contingency should prevent their 
destruction. What must have been the state of mind 
that could look on such a fearful deed as a rehef to its 
unimaginable agony ! 

How earnestly ought we to pray that He " who alone 
can restrain the unruly wills and affections of sinful 
man," would, of his great mercy, enable us to control 
our passions, and resist the sudden rushes of temptation 
that take the agonized heart by surprise, and hurry it 
into the commission of desperate and sinful deeds ! 

If it were not for the fog, I should now see further 
than I have seen this many a day ; but, as it is, distant 
objects are either invisible or confused and indistinct. 
We must not expect to have the world just what we 
would wish it to be. We never judge so wisely about 
the weather as when we conclude that to be the best 
which it pleases God to send. 

Now I should like to be able to scatter down blessings 
on the heads of my brother emmets below, from Green- 
wich Hospital in the east, to Buckingham Palace in the 
west ; from Stamford Hill in the north, to Clapham 
Common in the south. Well, if I cannot do this my- 
self, I can humbly and reverently ask Him to do it who 
can. He only who knows the grief and the joy, the 
fears and the desires of every heart, can suit his bless- 
ings to their respective wants. 

Yonder is a man lashing his horses very cruelly. I 
wish I could tell him that " a merciful man is merciful 
to his beast ;" but, perhaps, if I did, he would hardly 
thank me for my pains. Though he smacks his whip 
^ustily, I cannot hear the sound that it makes. It is the 
7* 



78 THE MONUMENT. 

eame with the two damsels there, who are shaking a 
carpet on the flat roof of the corner house. I hear no- 
thing of the heavy monotonous sound that a shaken 
carpet usually makes. 

The river, the bridges, St. Paul's Cathedral, the dif- 
ferent churches, and some of the large public buildings, 
are the most conspicuous objects around me ; but of 
these I am not at all inclined to give the history. I came 
up here to muse a little on such things as might present 
themselves most vividly to my attention or my thoughts, 
in so novel a situation. 

While I am lookin^^ down from this fearful heisfht, 
a pair of bright brown pigeons are fearlessly winging 
their way to and fro, midway between me and the 
ground. At one moment they bear up bravely against 
the wind, till they almost reach me ; and then, turning 
aside, suddenly cleave the air, like swift arrows from 
the bowman's hand. Oh, what a glorious liberty they 
appear to enjoy ! I could almost wish for the moment 
to be a pigeon ! 

The Mansion House looks like a spireless church up 
above the surrounding buildings ; but the Cathedral of 
St. Paul is the great lion of London. Like an ostrich 
among birds, like an elephant among beasts, or rather, 
like Snowdon among British mountains, is St. Paul's 
among the churches of this great city. I dare say, that 
when sir Christopher Wren saw the glorious pile com- 
pleted, it was one of the proudest moments of his life. 
In expressing this opinion, I run but little risk of wrong- 
ing his reputation, or doing injustice to his memory. 

The Tower has just caught my eye ; the centre build- 
ing, with the four square turrets, has a fort-like appear- 
ance. Its dark walls, windows, and battlements, edged 



THE MONUMENT. 79 

with Stones of a lighter colour, render it unlike the 
buildings around it. No doubt, if it were necessary, 
the place could pour out of the iron and brazen-throated 
cannons it contains, such a horrible tempest of destruc- 
tion, as would bring to the ground many of the proud 
edifices that raise their heads above it ; but for all that, 
I like not the Tower. Dark deeds have been done 
there ! cruel, merciless deeds, branding the brows, and 
blackening the memory of those who perpetrated them. 
How pleasant it is, in comparison, to reflect on the 
pious, though unnoticed, poor, whom, to do deeds of 
fame and glory — 

"Their lot forbade, nor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind !" 

The name of king will not cover a crime from an 
all-seeing eye, nor blot out a deed of blood from the re- 
cord of human transgression ; but I will tarn from the 
Tower, lest in my too ardent condemnation of regal in- 
firmities, I lose sight of, or make manifest, my own. 

The sight of St. Saviour's Church, just over London 
Bridge, puts me in mind of Hooper, and Bradford, and 
Farrar. It is not long since I paid a visit, with a friend, 
to the vault-like chamber in the Lady Chapel, where 
they were questioned by their cruel judges, before they 
were called on "to play the man in the fire." Could 
Bonner and Gardiner again sit in judgment on their 
fellow m^n, willingly would they drain their owm veins, 
rather than " betray the innocent blood." But it is too 
late ! Not all the host of heaven can wipe out the 
crimson stains that tracked their guilty pathway through 
the world. 



80 TIIE MONUMENT. 

I would say something about the Abbey of West- 
minster, though there is a mist round it that almost 
hides it from my view ; and I could prate awhile about 
tlie bridges and the river, but the cold wind affects me, 
and old men are somewhat compelled to think of the 
pains and penalties of to-morrow, as well as of the plea- 
sures of to-day. Much as may be said against the lum- 
bago and rheumatism, they are capital things in their 
way, for though they pinch us much, they preserve us 
from more ; the remembrance of them does us good. 
They resemble the painted boards that are set up on 
forbidden ground, " Men traps and spring guns set 
here." 

I will now make the best of my way down the spiral 
staircase. It was not, I hope, highmindedness that 
brought me up, and I trust that highmindedness will 
not accompany me down ; for sure I am, a proud man, 
seeing that he has so little cause for pride, and so much 
cause for humilit}^, is not more vain than he is foolish. 
As John Bunyan's shepherd's boy sings — 

"lie that is down needs fear no fall ; 
He that is low, no pride ; 
He that is humble, ever shall 
Have God to be his guide." 

Never are we so safe as when we are lowly in heart, 
seeking in ail things that holy and Divine influence, 
which can alone defend us from temptation, and deliver 
us from evil ; " casting down imaginations, and every 
high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of 
God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the 
obedience of Christ," 2 Cor. x. 5 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 81 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND 
THEBES. 

The walk to this place has a little tired me, and a 
flight of steps are not so easily ascended by an old man 
after a long walk as before it. I must sit me down on 
the seat here in the centre to rest awhile. A goodly 
concourse of people are assembled, as anxious, no doubt, 
as I am to enjoy a peep at the Panorama. 

Panoramic paintings afford a much greater degree 
of pleasure to the common observer, though not to the 
artist and the connoisseur, than is usually derived from 
the most finished specimens of the best masters ; and 
this pleasure is of course much increased when the sub- 
ject it represents is one of peculiar interest. 

The very name of Jerusalem calls forth associations 
which have been familiar to us from the years of our 
childhood. No wonder, then, that a panoramic repre- 
sentation of the " Holy City" should be an object of 
general attraction. 

It is an excellent custom, before witnessing an inter- 
esting spectacle, to make some preparation to make the 
most of it, and turn it to advantage ; for the want of 
this preparation, perhaps, many have felt something like 
disappointment in visiting the panorama of Jerusalem. 
Many have been totally unacquainted with the history 
of the fearful changes that have taken place in the city, 
and for want of reflection have expected- to see that Je- 
rusalem of olden time, which was to be destroyed, and 
of which, according to the prophetic words of the Re- 
deemer, not one stone is left upon another. To such 



82 PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 

visitors the unexpected, and, at first view, confused pile 
of yellowish-white stone walls, gateways, monasteries, 
convents, churches, mosques, domes, and minarets, is 
far from being satisfactory. Not that the scene wants 
attractions, but that it is not what was expected to have 
been seen. 

It is probable that very many of the visitors of the 
panorama have felt a painful sense of their limited 
knowledge of the Holy Scriptures ; their recollection 
of events has been confused, and they have imagined 
that all around them knew more than themselves ; 
neither is it improbable that this circumstance has 
led many afterwards to their Bibles, to become better 
informed with those events with which the mind of 
every Christian should be familiar. 

The first view of a panorama is usually so absorbing, 
that the printed description of it is rarely read by the 
visitor, until he becomes a little weary with the exhi- 
bition ; it is then glanced at, here and there, and put by 
with the determination to read it through afterwards, at 
a time, in fact, when the reading of it, so far as regards 
the panorama, will be useless. 

Jerusalem, though fallen from its high estate, though 
shorn of its glory, cannot fail to be very attractive to all 
who feel interest in the stupendous events of by-gone 
days. No wonder, then, that a representation of it, as 
it now stands, should have drawn together old and 
young, to satisfy their curiosity in gazing on the min- 
gled splendour and desolation that now characterize the 
city once "beloved by God." 

A place that has seventeen times been ravaged with 
fire and sword, and all the ruthless desolation of relent- 
less warfare, cannot be looked upon without emotion. 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 83 

Here, the Jews have fought, to defend their hallowed 
city, their holy temple, and the ark of the covenant. 
Here, the victorious cohorts of the Romans, wilr. re- 
sistless fury, have broken down the strong walls of de- 
fence, and smitten the people of God with the edge of 
the sword. Here, legions of Saracens, like devouring 
locusts, have spread desolation around ; and here, also, 
deluded men, calling themselves Christians, have shed 
their blood freely as water, in what they called " a holy 
war." On this spot the Assyrian, the Babylonian, the 
Egyptian, the Parthian, the Persian, and the Turk, 
have vied with each other in rapine and slaughter. 

The page whereon is inscribed the desolations of Je- 
rusalem, is a monument of Divine wrath, that cannot 
oe contemplated without fear and trembling. Here 
are held up to view the righteous judgments of God 
towards a rebellious and stiff-necked people. " Who 
hath hardened himself against him, and hath prosper- 
ed ?" Job ix, 4. " He doeth according to his will in the 
army of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth, 
and none can stay his hand, or say unto him. What 
doestthou?" Dan. iv. 35. 

Passing over the many destructions that visited this 
devoted city, let me dwell for a moment upon one only. 
When Titus invested the place, six hundred thousand 
Jews perished for lack of food. " The famine was sore 
in the land ;" for the armed hand of the enemy guarded 
the gates night and day. Many more than a million 
died by the sword, and ninety-seven thousand were sent 
away prisoners. The magnitude of this desolation is 
oppressive ; the besom of destruction, indeed, passed 
over Jerusalem, and laid low her greatness. 

Jerusalem is now the abode of Turks, Arabs, Chris* 



84 PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 

tians, and Jews : of the latter there are but few, and they 
are miserably poor, and much oppressed. 

The mosques are splendid buildings, especially that 
of Omar, the finest specimen of Saracenic architecture 
in the whole world. This splendid building is suppo- 
sed to occupy the site of the ancient temple of Solomon, 
which stood on the threshing-floor of Oman the Jehu- 
site, on Mount Moriah, where the Lord appeared unto 
David, 2 Chron. iii. 1, and where the visible glory ap- 
peared. It was erected by the caliph Omar, and is 
deemed next in sanctity to that of Mecca. At the time 
of the crusaders it became a Christian church, and when 
they abandoned the city, Saladin caused the whole 
building to be washed with rose-water before he would 
enter it. " It is a regular octagon, each side being sev- 
enty feet in width ; it is entered by four spacious doors 
feeing the cardinal points, the Bab el Garb on the west ; 
Bab nebbe Daoud, or of David, on the east ; Bab el 
Kebla, or of Prayer, on the south ; and Bab el Djinna, 
or of Heaven, on the north. Each of these entrances 
has a porch of timber-work, of considerable height, 
excepting Bab el Kebla, which has a fine portico, sur- 
rounded by eight Corinthian pillars of marble. The 
lower part of the walls is faced with marble, evidently 
very ancient ; it is white, with a slight tinge of blue, 
and pieces wholly blue are occasionally introduced with 
good effect. Each face is panelled, the sides of the 
panels forming plain pilasters at the angles ; the upper 
part is faced with small glazed tiles, about eight inches 
square, of various colours, blue being the prevailing, 
with passages from the Koran on them, forming a sin- 
gular and beautiful mosaic. The four plain sides have 
each seven well-proportioned windows of stained-glass ; 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 85 

the four sides of entrance have only six. The roof 
gently rises towards the perpendicular part under the 
dome, which is also covered with coloured tiles, ar- 
ranged in various elegant devices. The dome, which 
was built by Solyman i., is spherical, covered with lead, 
and crowned by a gilt crescent ; the whole is ninety 
feet in height, and has a light and beautiful effect, the 
fanciful disposition of the soft colours above, contrasting 
with the blue and white marble below, is extremely 
pleasing." 

The various convents, the monasteries, the domes, and 
the minarets, also arrest the attention of the spectator ; 
but it is not to see a representation of these that a visit 
is paid to the panorama of Jerusalem. What though 
other buildings now occupy the places where once stood 
the Temple of Solomon, the castle of David, and the 
gates of the holy city ! what though the Christian vis- 
itor be, for a moment, led away by Mohammedan splen- 
dour ! his thoug-hts soon return to more interesting 
inquiries. He feels an aflectionate reverence stealing 
over him ; he yearns to gaze upon the spot from whence 
the Redeemer entered Jerusalem, sitting on the foal of 
an ass, while the palm-branches were waved to and fro, 
the garments strown in the way, and the cry of " Ho- 
sanna to the Son of David," mounted to the skies. 

And is that, yonder, in very deed, the same Mount 
of Olives whereon Jesus and his disciples so often as- 
sembled ? Yes ! the very same. Time, that akers all 
things, may, in some respects, have changed the ap- 
pearance of the place ; yet, still it is the same, and the 
olive flourishes there, as of olden time. That rugged 
road which crosses the Mount, is the dangerous road to 
8 



86 PANORAMAS OF JEP.USALEM AND THEBES. 

Jericho ; and the spot at the foot of the Mount of Olives, 
is the Garden of Gethsemane. 

That hallowed and peculiar place, 
Where Christ displayed his love and grace : 
Oh, let me gaze again on thee, 
Thou garden of Gethsemane ! 

There Jesus knelt, and felt within 

The bitter curse of mortal sin, 

While strong compassion brought him low, 

And drops of blood bedew'd his brow. 

There gladly would I lowly bend, 
And supplicate the sinner's Friend ; 
Keep sacred watch, where watch he kept, 
And weep where my Redeemer wept. 

On one of these spots before me in the distance, which 
commands a view of Jerusalem, stood the Saviour when 
he wept over the city. How affecting were his words ! 
" Seest thou these great buildings ; there shall not be 
left one stone upon another, that shall not be thrown 
down." '• For the days shall come upon thee, that thine 
enemies shall cast a trench about thee, and compass thee 
round, and keep thee in on every side, and shall lay 
thee even with the ground, and thy children within 
thee ; and they shall not leave in thee one stone upon 
another." This prophecy has been fulfilled to the 
letter. 

In many of these spots stood the Redeemer, when, 
surrounded by the disciples, he taught, not only them, 
but numerous disciples, who have read his discourses 
in subsequent ages. 

And there, a little to the right, by the city-walk, lies 
the valley of Jehoshaphat, with the brook Eadron, as 
of olden time, flowing through the midst. 

It may be that many a visitor to the panorama has 
had to contend with sceptical reflections. " But how 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AXD THEBES. 87 

do I know that the places pointed out to me are the very 
spots on which the events recorded in Scripture took 
place ?" '• How can I tell that I am not deceived ?" 
The proper reply to these suggestions is, You cannot, 
with any reason, doubt that Jerusalem stood where Je- 
rusalem stands now ; this is proved by authentic records 
of history, as well as by the situation the city occupies, 
seeming to be shut up by hills and mountains in the 
centre of a vast amphitheatre : '• As the mountains are 
round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about his 
people.'' The locality of Jerusalem is indisputably 
proved, whatever difference of opinion there may be as 
to the situation of some particular places within its walls. 
These differences of opinion, however, arise from the 
alterations which take place in the site of a cit)- during 
a number of successive centuries, more than from any 
other cause. That the mount, now called the Mount 
of Olives, is the same as that whereon our Saviour 
stood ; and that the ground occupied by the Mosque of 
Omar was the site whereon the temple stood, cannot be 
doubted or disputed, any more than that the Britain we 
inhabit is the island invaded by Julius Cesar : indeed, 
many say that this latter fact is far less certainly au- 
henticated than the former. 

As I look all around, there are in the panorama a 
great many beautiful sketches, each of itself deserving 
attention. Groups of figures, scribe^ sheiks, and friars, 
Turkish soldiers, and Arabs from the borders of the 
Dead Sea. The aga, mufti, and the sheriff in his green 
robe, as a descendant of the imposter Mohammed. All 
these attract the eye ; and the sight of the Arabian 
robber about to receive the bastinado on his bare feet, 
almost make the soles of my feet to tingle. 



BO PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND TIiEEES. 

In some part of the scene around us .vas the spot 
where the holy Jesus had poured upon him the bitter 
derision of the Roman soldier}^, and the rancorous 
malevolence of the persecuting Jews. Here, after he 
had been scourg-ed, was he clad in purple, and his sa- 
cred temples wounded with a crown of thorns. They 
mocked him, they spat upon him, and they led him away 
to be crucified. Let us think of the days when Caia- 
phas was high priest, and Pilate governor of Jerusalem. 
Eighteen hundred years have passed away since He 
was " wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for 
our iniquities," laden with his cross, " despised and re- 
jected of men." " He was taken," in the language of 
the prophet Isaiah, " from prison and from judgment : 
and who shall declare his generation 1 for he was cut 
off out of the land of the living: for the transgression 
of my people was he stricken." 

There is a charge in Holy Scripture to do some things 
" in season," and " out of season," setting forth very 
clearly the important nature of the duty enjoined. Now, 
though it may appear somewhat " out of season," in a 
place of public resort like this, to reflect on the way of 
salvation, yet when I turn my face towards Mount 
Calvary yonder, the subject is pressed on my thoughts. 

It becomes an old man, who has travelled so many 
stages on his way towards eternity, frequently to require 
from himself a reason of the hope that is in him 
What, then, is mine 1 Humbly, honestly, and heartily 
do 1 reply, that I have no hope of life eternal that clings 
not to the cross of the Redeemer. Old Humphrey, io 
his younger days, like many more, has tried to scale 
the inaccessible ramparts of heaven with the poor, crazy 
.adders of his own doings — and rob, by not entering in 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 89 

at "the door," but climbing up another way, of the 
honour due to his name, the Lord of life and glory — 
but the time has gone by ; and now he is made willing 
and anxious to forego his own vain imaginations, and 
gladly to lay hold of the only hope set before him in 
the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

Oh that I could more stedfastly and abidingly keep 
my mind stayed on the great truths of Christianity ! 
As ail are sinners, so no one can do without a Saviour ! 
The Lamb of God can alone take away the sins of the 
world, "for there is none other name under heaven 
given among men whereby we must be saved," Acts 
iv. 12. " God so loved the world that he gave his only 
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should 
not perish, but have everlasting life," John iii. 16. Tc 
the Saviour, then, let us go, for " He is able to save 
them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, see- 
ing he ever liveth to make intercession for them," 
Heb. vii. 25. Why should these things be so much 
forgotten, and why should we require to be contin- 
ually reminded of what ought to be at all times in our 
thoughts ? 

Who can tell but this panorama of Jerusalem may 
call forth in many, solemn and awakening reflections ! 
Were not the place somewhat crowded, I should be dis- 
posed to spend another hour in gazing on the interest- 
ing scenes around me ; but, as it is, I shall quit the 
place, and give free course to the reflections that have 
been called up in my mind. Oh, how poverty stricken 
is this earthly Jerusalem to that heavenly city with the 
golden gates, whose spangled pavement shall assuredly 
be trodden by the humblest disciple of the Redeemer 1 



90 PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 
PANORAMA OF THEBES, 

This panorama of the City of Thebes is not only a 
correct representation of modern Thebes, as it now 
stands, but also of those ancient ruins, which, for thou- 
sands of years, have been an instructive spectacle to the 
world. Every temple, every pillar, and every stone on 
which the eye rests in the enormous mass of ruin, may 
be regarded as copied from those real remains which 
have existed, perhaps, three thousand years, and many 
of them possibly much longer. 

The spectator of the panorama of Jerusalem looks 
on the semblance of a city comparatively modern ; but 
in contemplating that of Thebes, he realizes to his 
mind a spectacle of more remote antiquity. I never 
look upon a ruin without finding myself disposed to se- 
rious thought. There is that in the overturned pillar 
and broken pediment, that silently, yet eloquently, tells 
an old man a tale of mutability, that he will do well to 
regard. 

A dark cloud, seemingly impenetrable, has for ages 
rested on the ruins of desolated Thebes, involving it in 
mystery and obscurity. Profound learning, and sober- 
minded conjecture, have done no more than establish a 
few probable suppositions ; but the recent discoveries in 
hieroglyphics have thrown a ray of light on many a 
hewn stone and symbolic description, rendering that 
plain and intelligible, which before was utterly un- 
known. There is now scarcely a doubt of the identity 
of Thebes of Egypt, with the No-Amon mentioned by 
the prophet Nahum : " Art thou better than populous 
No, that was situate among the rivers, that had the wa- 
ters round about it, whose rampart was the sea, and her 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 91 

wall was from the sea ? Ethiopia and Egypt were her 
strength, and it was infinite : Put and Lubim were thy 
helpers. Yet was she carried away, she went into cap- 
tivity : her young children also were dashed in pieces 
at the top of all the streets: and they cast lots for her 
honourable men, and all her great men were bound in 
chains," Nah. iii. 8—10. 

Every fresh light thrown on the darkness which has 
so lonsf shrouded Thebes, renders it more interestinff : 
it is like finding something of value while groping amid 
ruins, that raises our estimation of the mouldering pile. 

The term used to distinguish this city of No, or No- 
Amon, means '• the dwelling of Ammon i'' and it is a 
fact beyond contradiction, that there were more places 
rhan one in Egypt, called by the Greeks Diospolis, sig- 
nifying the same thing. Little doubt, then, remains that 
the city of No- Anion, mentioned by the prophet Nahum, 
and the city of Thebes, are one and the same. 

The prophetical denunciations of Jeremiah and Eze- 
kiel to a city of the same name, must have referred to 
another place, not then destroyed, whereas the greatness 
of the cit}?' mentioned by Nahum had already departed. 
The word '• sea ' is frequently used in Scripture for 
great waters of all kinds, and the river Nile is undoubt- 
edly of this description. 

Herodotus would surely have described the glory of 
Thebes, as well as that of Memphis, if the former had 
not passed away before his day, and that was between 
four and live hundred years before the coming of our 
Saviour. We may, then, without much fear of deceiv- 
ing ourselves, allow our eyes to rove over the panorama 
of Thebes as over the ruins of No-Amon. We may, 



92 PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBLh. 

Without subjecting ourselves to the charge of easy-mind- 
ed credulity, believe the cities to be one and the same. 

It is not, however, the antiquity alone of Thebes that 
so powerfully absorbs the mind of the reflecting visitor 
of the panorama ; but the immensity of the masses of 
sculptured temples and obelisks, and colossal statues, 
which at once excite, astonish, and confound. 

It is one thing to be told that Egypt was a flourish- 
ing nation in the earliest ages of the world, or to read 
that Thebes was the renowned capital of the Egyptian 
monarchy, and that her warriors issued forth armed 
from a hundred gates ; bnt it is another to see with our 
eyes a correct representation of the stupendous, though 
faded glory of that mighty capital, as it is at this day. 
The gigantic blocks of massive stone, the avenues of 
sphinxes, the groves of columns, sculptured over with 
mysterious hieroglyphics, are so unlike the common 
objects around us ; so much beyond our pigmy dwellings, 
and comparatively miniature public buildings, that mys- 
tery and amazement prevail in the spectator's mind. 

When gazing on such huge masses as these before 
me, we cannot but be struck with the feebleness of 
" mighty men," when contrasted Avith the power of the 
Almighty. Man builds a city, but the hand of the Al- 
mighty overturns it. Man designs it to endure from 
generation to generation in prosperity, but God hum- 
bleth its pride and its power : " The Lord of hosts hath 
purposed, and who shall disannul it? And his hand is 
stretched out, and who shall turn it back ?" Isa. xiv. 27. 

It is said that the whole French army, when they 
came suddenly in sight of these immense ruins, with 
one accord stood in amazement, and clapped their hands 
with delight. These goodly temples were erected by 



PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 93 

idolaters, by vain mortal men, who '• changed the glory 
of the incorruptible God into an image made like to 
corruptible man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, and 
creeping things ;" yet are their ruins even now attesting 
the truth of holy writ, respecting the destruction of idol- 
atrous nations. " Their land is full of idols, they wor- 
ship the work of their own hands : that which their 
own fingers have made." " The day of the Lord of 
hosts shall be upon every one that is proud and lofty, 
and upon every one that is lifted up ; and he shall be 
brought low," Isa. ii. 

I know not if others are moved as I am, by this 
painted semblance of ancient Thebes, but I stand oppres- 
sed, I might almost say afflicted, with confused reflec- 
tions. The mighty ruins around wear not the appear- 
ance of decay ; their edges are still sharp ; their sculp- 
tured hieroglyphics seem as fresh as if the chisel of 
yesterday had fashioned them. These solid blocks of 
unjnjured stone have defied the hand of Time, yet have 
they been shaken by the only arm that could shake them 
asunder, the arm of the Holy One. 

"Not all proud Thebes' unrivall'd walls contain, 
The world's great empress, on the Egyptian plain ; 
That spreads her concjiiest o'er a thousand states, 
And pours her hemes through a hundred gates, 
Five hundred horsemen and two hundred cars, 
From each wide portal issuing to the wars," 

could oppose the power of God, or endure the wither- 
ing touch of the hand of the Eternal ! 

As the eye wanders over the banks of the river Nile 
and the distant mountains of Arabia, and then falls on 
the mighty temples of Karnak and Luxor, which ap- 
pear to have been shaken to their foundations, and partly 
overturned, while yet in the pinnacle of their glory, 



94 PANORAMAS OF JERUSALEM AND THEBES. 

one aosorbing inquiry urges itself on the mind : " Wliose 
hand hath done this ?" and though no audible response 
■be heard, the heart feels the reply, " The Lord, strong 
and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle !" "Hedoeth 
according to his will in the army of heaven, and among 
the inhabitants of the earth ; and none can stay his 
hand, or say unto him, What doest thou?" 

Jerusalem ! thou hast awakened my awe, my rever- 
ence, and my spiritual affections, and more deep.y im- 
pressed on my mind the everlasting verities of the book 
of truth. And, Thebes ! 

I view thy noble relics with a sigh, 

Thy glory and thy greatness are departed ! 

Thy tenants have forsaken thee, and hid ( 

Their faces in the dust ; and thou art left 

A mouldering monument, wherein I read 

Not only their mortality, hut mine. 



ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY, 



POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTION. 

There is no spot of earth that can be altogether un- 
interesting to a Christian perambulator, and for this 
plain reason, wherever he goes, God has been there 
before him, and left some unequivocal trace of his al- 
mighty presence. The heavens are richly coloured, 
the earth is clothed with beauty ! The change of sea- 
sons is but a change in the glorious exhibition of God's 



THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 95 

wondrous creation. Illimitable power, unsearchable 
wisdom, and inexhaustible goodness, are inscribed on 
even his "lowliest works." In the country, well may 
the heart beat, and the eye sparkle with gratitude and 
joy, for the sources of delight are unbounded ; and he 
who is accustomed to look on all as the gift of God con- 
ferred for the good of man, will indeed find 

"Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." 

That knowledge which connects earth with heaven 
has an increased enjoyment. It gives an added interest 
to the scenes around us : 

And doubly sweet are rural hours, 
The hills, the dales, the trees, the flowers, 
The wood, the wave, and water-fall, 
When God is seen among them all. 

Nor yet are the peopled pathways of the crowded city 
without absorbing interest, for there may be seen men 
and manners in all their varied modifications. There, 
too, is found all that is rare and curious, heaped up in a 
thousand treasure-houses ; so that a perambulator may 
walk abroad with pleasure, and return home laden with 
instruction. London, indeed, abounds with exhibitions 
of interest, where every degree of intellect, and every 
variety of disposition, may find amusement and advan- 
tage. Whether my tent has been fixed in the " mart of 
all the earth," or elsewhere, I have always been a pe- 
rambulator in the neighbourhood around me. No won- 
der, then, that the varied exhibitions of this mighty 
metropolis should have attracted me. 

When any one, young or old, gazes for the first time 
on a steam-engine, without being prepared for such a 
sight, he is altogether confounded by the spectacle. He 



96 THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERT. 

sees the machine, like a huge giant with a hundred 
arms, achieving wonders ; but he is lost among the rods 
and cylinders, the revolving wheels, the heaving levers, 
the groaning axles, and the hissing steam ; he confounds 
the effect and cause ; he is astonished and perplexed, 
but not made wiser. But let any one familiar with the 
engine, explain to him the principle of its action, so that 
he can distinguish between the mere machine and the 
mighty energy that keeps it in motion, and how different 
will be the amount of his pleasure and profit. In like 
manner, a slight degree of information given to him 
who, for the first time, visits any other exhibition, will 
not be useless. 

Did you ever visit the Royal Adelaide Gallery ? 
If not, thither will we bend our steps ; the only advan- 
tage that I can claim over you is this, that I have been 
there already. Bear in mind that I neither undertake 
to play the part of a catalogue, by directing you to all 
that the gallery contains, nor yet to decide which things 
are the most entitled to your attention. My pleasure 
will be to roam here and there without restraint ; and my 
business to implant in your memory useful knowledge, 
and to excite in your mind right feelings. 

Well 1 we have passed the crowded Strand ; we 
have walked along the Lowther Arcade ; we have en- 
tered the Long Room of the Institution with a catalogue 
in our hands ; and now, what use can we make of the 
models, the magnets, the steam-engines, boats, and car- 
riages ; the fire-escapes, air-pumps, safety-lamps, and 
hydrometers ; the life-boats, rudders, anchors, paddles, 
and paddle-wheels ; the rafts, blow -pipes, gasmeters, and 
electrifying machines ; the life-preservers, cylinders, 



THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 97 

shafts, cog-wheels, pulleys, and inclined planes? If 
we attend to a tenth part of what is before us, we must 
stay here a week : let us look at a few of them, and be 
content. 

How hard it would be to calculate the amount of 
mind that now lies before us ! Almost every machine, 
model, and plan has been the result of intense study ; 
days and nights, weeks, months, and even years, have 
been devoted to the perfecting of some of the designs 
presented to our view. We see the result only. The 
disappointments that have been endured, the difficulties 
which have been overcome, the unconquered patience, 
the determined perseverance that have been exercised, 
we see not. We shall err, then, if we regard these mi- 
niature models as mere playthings to amuse an idle 
hour ; they are, for the most part, efforts of the mind 
for the benefit of the human race. 

Look at that model of Eddystone lighthouse. It is a 
mere bauble in itself; but when we consider, that the 
lighthouse which it exactly represents is really standing, . 
like a warning angel, amid the stormy breakers of the 
British Channel, enduring the attacks of the heaving 
ocean, as it pours its roaring billows from the wild At- 
lantic, making signs to the mariners to keep aloof from 
the dangerous rocks that threaten him with destruction, 
it gives it an indescribable interest. I must have an- 
other look before I leave it. ' 

Why have you passed by that model of a raft so, 
hastily? Come back again, and examine it afresh. 
Do you take it for a play-thing ? it is something better. 
You see these little barrels and stripe of wood tied to- 
gether. Now, by observing this model attentively, you 
may learn from it how human lives may be rescued 
9 



98 THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 

from destruction in a season of extremity, by the use 
of materials ready to hand. Imagine that a vessel is 
foundering- in the mighty deep : it " reels to and fro, and 
staggers like a drunken man," and the seamen are at 
their wits' end. 

*' One wide water all around them, 
All above them one black sky ; 
Different deaths at ouce surround them — 
Hark ! what means that dreadful cryl" 

Perhaps, when all seems lost, two or three steady-mind- 
ed sailors step forward, and from the materials of little 
worth that a ship always carries with her, begin to form 
a rafi of safety. Three or four empty water-casks are 
well lashed to a few spars and planks, or gratings ; on 
which a chest, a bag of provisions, and a butt of water 
are quickly placed ; rude as the construction may be, it 
floats upon the water with a score or two seamen on it. 
The ship founders, but the raft lives through the waves, 
and some days, or weeks after, is picked up by a friendly 
vessel, or makes some point of land in safety. I see 
that you look on the model of the life-raft with more 
attention than you did ; it is meant to preserve life, and 
is, therefore, not a work of science only, but of hu- 
manity. 

Here is a life-preserver^ meant to be thrown into the 
sea when a sailor falls overboard. I hope that you can 
swim, and are able and willing to render assistance 
when you see any one in the water in danger. A few 
weeks ago, a poor idiot, seeing a child fall into the 
canal, leaped in after him, and saved the child's lifa 
Who would be outdone in humanity by an idiot ? 

Hark ! that flourish of trumpets announces that the 
steam-gun is about to pour its stream of leaden bullets 



THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 99 

against the iron target. What a reverberation ! what 
wondrous rapidity ! Seventy balls have burst forth in 
four seconds, and twenty-five thousand might be dis- 
charged in an hour. And are not mankind visited 
enough with woes 1 Cannot men destroy each other 
fast enough in their ruthless wars, that such a murder- 
ous weapon as this should be required ? Our life, at 
best, is " even a vapour, that appeareth for a little while, 
and then vanisheth away." Surely then, " wisdom is 
better than weapons of war," and deeds of mercy than, 
doings of destruction. Had the steam-gun been the 
only invention of its talented constructor, he would 
scarcely be to be envied ; but society is indebted to him 
for many inventions of less questionable utility. 

Come back ! come back ! here is a cluster of curios- 
ities — a model of a new anchor, an improved rudder, 
a plan for preventing ships from foundering at sea, and 
a shipwreck-arrow, to hold communication with a vessel 
m distress. I like to look at these things, because they 
are of great value to seamen, who undergo unnumbered 
hardships while we are safe on shore. Every thing 
belonging to a ship is interesting, from stem to stern, 
from the sky-scraper to the keel. Ships not only bear 
away our manufactures, and bring back the produce of 
distant lands, but take out, also, missionaries, and reli- 
gious tracts, and that " flaming angel" the Bible, to en- 
lighten the heathen world. He, then, who improves a 
cable, an anchor, a rudder, or a sail, or invents aught to 
assist the shipwrecked mariner, deserves wexl at the 
hands of his country. 

We must not omit seeing the combustion of steel, for 
it is a very curious, and considered, also, a very myste- 
rious process. A round plate of soft iron is made to 



100 THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 

revolve at the rate of five thousand times in a minute, 
when, if a hardened file be pressed against it, that part of 
the file next the iron will be melted by the extreme heat. 
Hardened steel melted and cut through by soft iron ! 
Velocity gives new qualities to matter, so that a soft sub- 
stance, in rapid motion, overcomes the resistance of a 
hard one that is in a state of rest. These experiments 
are intended to set us thinking, and I have been reflect- 
ing on this very matter. It seems to me that one reason 
why the file is cut, while the round iron plate remains 
whole, is this — every part of the round iron plate, after 
coming in contact with the file, performs a circle before 
it again rubs against the file, while the file itself has to 
bear, without intermission, the friction of the revolving 
plate of iron. 

If you have ever seen, as I have, the extremity of 
distress which is endured by the inmates of a dwelling 
that has taken fire in the night, you will regard these 
models of fi,re-escapes with attention. Let us suppose 
the clock has struck one or two. All is still, save the 
slow-pacing foot-fall of the policeman, and the occa- 
sional rumble of a cab or coach. Hark ! the fearful 
exclamation, " Fire ! Fire !" resounds along the street. 
A crowd rapidly assembles ; the door of the dwelling 
is broken in ; the house is full of smoke, and the stair- 
case is in flames. A window of the first-floor is thrown 
up : one lets himself down by a sheet, another leaps in 
desperation on the stone pavement. But how are the 
poor wretches, shrieking at the attic window, to escape? 
There is a trap-door to the roof but the padlock is rusty, 
the key will not turn it. There is a parapet along 
which they may go to other houses if they can get out 
of the windows. Alas! the females are paralyzed with 



THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 101 

fear ; the children are clinging to them, and no one is 
near to assist them ; their case seems totally hopeless. 
Dreadful ! dreadful ! they must perish in the flames. 
Who are the men who have planted that ladder-like 
pole against the house ? One is mounting on high ; 
he has entered the attic window ; with a firm heart 
and a ready hand he places the children, one by one, 
in the large basket which has been pulled up to the top 
of the pole. The children are safe on the ground. 
Again the basket mounts, and again it descends, freight- 
ed with the helpless women. Last of all comes down 
the brave man, who has, under Providence, rescued 
them from destruction. Think not that this picture is 
fanciful, it is fearfully correct : and now, can you feel 
any other sentiment than respect for those, whose bene- 
volent inventions are thus made instrumental in rescu- 
ing human beings from destruction ? So long as the 
Royal Adelaide Gallery presents models that have for 
their object the preservation of human life, so long will 
it promote in the public mind the desire to be useful in 
seasons of distress, thereby befriending the community 
at large. 

Who, without strong emotion, can read of the horri- 
fying circumstance at Hatfield House, of a nobleman 
with his attendants being driven back by smoke from 
the dressing-room where his own mother was, in all 
probability, at that moment in flames ; and who would 
not have rejoiced, if some one w^th knowledge and 
presence of mind suited to the emergency had snatched 
the ill-fated marchioness from the destructive conflagra- 
tion that so awfully consumed her ? It is asserted in 
the " Medical Gazette," that any one by applying a 
wet cloth or handkerchief to his mouth, may fearlessly 
9* 



102 THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 

enter the densest smoke that fire can create, especially 
if he enter on his hands and knees. Reflect a moment 
on this simple and secure means of entering the several 
rooms of a house on fire. It is too late to apply any 
remedy to the calamity already alluded to, but He only 
who knows all things, can tell how soon we may be 
placed in a like extremity. Let us resolve, with God's 
blessing, to increase our limited knowledge, and to tax 
our noblest energies, if ever called upon to act in such 
trying circumstances. With a wet napkin round his 
mouth and nostrils, and a cord tied round his waist, a 
man of self-possession and energy might fearlessly 
enter a smoking apartment, and probably rescue a 
fellow-creature from destruction. Even in the event 
of being overcome by the smoke, the cord would enable 
the attendants to draw him out from the surrounding 
danger. There is something spirit stirring, something 
glorious, in the very attempt to rescue a fellow being 
from inevitable death ; but without knowledge and self- 
possession, the most resolute philanthropy may become 
as impotent as childhood. It is said, that about ten 
years ago, a poor miner of the name of Roberts, in- 
vented a head-covering, with glass eyes, and a tabular 
mouth-piece, which enabled him to resist even the most 
suffocating vapours of sulphur for half an hour, shut 
up in a chamber, where, without this covering, he could 
not have survived a minute. It is to be hoped that this 
invention will no longer be allowed to slumber in for- 
getfulness. 

The model of a diving-bell is worthy of much atten- 
tion. By this useful machine the foundations of bridges 
and light-houses have been constructed with increased 
security, and property to a great extent has been reco- 



THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 103 

vered from vessels sunk in deep waters. What power 
has the Giver of all good be?towed upon man ! As- 
sisted by science, he is propelled rapidly along the land, 
and the winds of heaven waft him across the mighty 
deep : he mounts into the air higher than the soaring 
eagle, and descends to the bottom of the sea. 

Here are a cluster of useful inventions — The loater- 
filter er, rendering drinkable that which, without it, 
would be comparatively useless — The safety-rein, to 
curb the unruly steed, when he breaks away with his 
rider — The stomach-pu?)ip, to remove poison or any 
other injurious liquid from the stomach — The appa- 
ratus for giving notice when a ship drags her anchor^ 
an invention which may be very useful to mariners — 
The safety-lamp^ to protect the miner in his dangerous 
employment from the sudden explosion of foul air. At 
these, and a hundred other useful inventions, we must 
snatch a hurried glance, for time wears away. You 
must come again and again, and even then you will 
.have much to see. 

Do you hear ! Notice is given that the grand 
oxyhydrogen microscope is about to be exhibited. Let 
us hasten forward, for crowds are pressing on before. 

I am afraid — but in this I may be wrong — that there 
are but few among the many who visit this place, who 
put up even an ejaculatory prayer, that the varied stores 
of knowledge here exhibited, may be blessed to them 
with a holy influence, rendering them more useful in 
their generation on earth, and more devoted to their 
Almighty Father who is in heaven ! 

We gaze on the wonders of creation till they become 
common-place in our regard. The all-glorious sun, a 
million times the size of the world we inhabit, mav rise 



104 THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERV. 

in splendour, inscribing the power of his Almighty 
Maker in characters of flame upon the earth and skies, 
and set in unsufferable brightness and glory, while we 
scarcely make a pause to wonder and admire. No 
marvel, then, that the wonder with which we at first re- 
gard the exhibition of the grand microscope should gra- 
dually subside. Thoroughly to enjoy this spectacle, 
we must either experience ourselves, or witness in others, 
the fresh feelings and emotions of those who have never 
before attended an exhibition of the kind. An involun- 
tary burst of astonishment usually escapes the lips of 
children or strangers, on witnessing even the lowest 
power of the microscope. The spectator there sees, 
demonstrated before him, that it is not in the " cedar of 
Lebanon" only, but in the " hyssop that springeth out 
of the Avail" — not in the majestic oak alone, but in the 
lowly lichen, that the power and wisdom of God are 
manifested. We have all been accustomed to acknow- 
ledo-e the wonder-workino- hand of the Creator of all 
things, in the huge leviathan, the half-reasoning ele- 
phant, and the monarch of the beasts ; but we are here 
compelled to acknowledge that the same Almighty at- 
tributes are necessary to form the wing of the moth, the 
larva of the knat, and the scarcely visible animalcule 
that escapes the vision of the common observer. 

The amazing powers of the microscope, open up a 
page in the economy of nature, absolutely astounding 
to those Avhose minds have not before been draAvn to the 
■wonders of the animal and vegetable world exhibited 
before them. A sprig of moss becomes a tree, and the 
structure, habits, appetites, passions, ond sports of the 
insect world are openly revealed. When a thread be- 
comes a cord, when the finest cambric is represented as 



THE EOYAL ADELAIDE G.ILLERY. 105 

coarser than the coarsest canvass, it exposes the imper- 
fection of human ingenuity, and reproves the pride of 
the wearer of fine clothes. When the minutest worm 
of the waters is extended to the size of the boa con- 
strictor, and the common flea more than rivals the mam- 
moth in magnitude, we see that they are formed with 
as much care, and furnished with organs as well adapt- 
ed to their state, as larger animals. The sting of the 
bee, and the mandibles of the spider and water-tiger, ap- 
pear formidable as the tusks of the wild boar, the jaw 
of the lion, and the horn of the rhinoceros. 

The lecturer is at the magnet^ we must go there. 
Wonderful ! The soft iron, so long as the two wires 
remain in the liquid employed, becomes a powerful 
magnet by the galvanic fluid which passes through it, 
and sustains a weight between four and five hundred 
pounds. When the wires are lifted out of the liquid, 
the iron loses its magnetic power, and the weight falls. 

These things are, indeed, calculated to amaze us ; 
and a little progress in practical science may do us good, 
especially if, at the same time we attain it, we make pro- 
gress in the love of C4od and man. 

Will you be electrified ? The shock given from the 
two basins of water is very slight, but that from the 
pieces of metal is tolerably sharp It tries, not only 
the strength of the nerves, but the degree of our moral 
courage and endurance ; for some of athletic proportion 
writhe under its influence, while feebler frames, in many 
instances, stand firm. I saw one of the Society of 
Friends, the other day, enduring its power, without al- 
tering a muscle in his face. 

Though we may not understand magnetism, galvan- 
ism, and electricity, yet if we are here taught how little 



106 THE ROYAL ADELAIDE GALLERY. 

we know, our visit to the Gallery will not be in vain. 
While the assembled visitors admire in mute astonish- 
ment, or express their surprise in short ejaculations, the 
Christian spectator is ready to lay his hand upon his 
mouth, under a feeling persuasion of his utter nothing- 
ness in the vast creation, and to say, " Lord, what is 
man that thou art mindful of him ! or the son of man 
that thou visitest him!" 

The tajiestry^ the paintings^ the musical instruments^ 
the casts, the carvings, and the mosaic tables, will 
abundantly recompense you for the trouble of coming 
again ; the printing and weaving should be dwelt 
upon ; the microscopes, kaleidoscopes, prisms, the curi- 
ous pieces of mechanism, and unnumbered curiosities^ 
wdll amuse you : the chemical lecture must not be lost. 
The Daguerreotype and electrotype portraits must be 
inspected with care, and then you will have a rich treat 
in the exhibition of paintings called the Kalorama. 
These paintings are in the new relievo style, and their 
effect is excellent. In the lectures you will learn some- 
thing to raise your admiration of Him, of whose creation 
we know so little. After all that science can unfold, how 
ignorant we are of our Almighty Creator and Redeem- 
er ! infinitely wise, and strong, and good, and holy ! 
" Oh the depths of the riches, both of the wisdom and 
knowledge of God ! How unsearchable are his judg- 
ments, and his ways past finding out !" We must now 
leave unnoticed, and indeed unseen, many excellent 
inventions that do credit to the minds that gave them 
birth ; but let us not forget the few that we have in- 
spected. 

Many may regard the Royal Adelaide Gallery as an 
idle lounge, or, at best, but a place of brief amusement ; 



THE ROYAL POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTION. 107 

but this is not doing it justice. It should be regarded 
as an exhibition of what the human mind has under- 
taken and achieved to remove difficulty, to avert dan- 
ger, to increase information, to extend comfort, and 
generally to benefit mankind. Every visit we pay to 
it ought not only to render us more capable, but more 
desirous also, of doing good to all around us. When 
knowledge and benevolence go hand in hand in tempo- 
ral things, they mutually assist each other ; but when, 
under Divine direction, they unite their efforts to further 
the temporal and spiritual welfare of the world, they 
take a higher range, and a holy influence crowns them 
with success. 

* * # # * * 

This Royal Polytechnic Institution, like that of 
the Royal Adelaide Gallery, is established for the 
advancement of the arts and practical science, especially 
in connexion with agriculture, mining, machinery, and 
manufactures : so of necessity the two institutions par- 
take of the same character. 

While I am gazing from the balcony, the Great 
Hall appears to be crowded with company of all ages, 
the bright and eager eye of youth, the sobered mien of 
maturity, and the yet more grave and reflecting counte- 
nance of age, may be seen at a glance, and many a 
parent feels himself puzzled to answer the questions of 
his children. Mamr las hardly dare open their mouths, 
and papas, with all their home-knowledge, find it no 
easy matter to keep up a character for wisdom when 
surrounded with scientific instruments and intricate 
machinery. " Well, we must go on, or we shall not 
see half the things which are to be seen" — " Ask me 
when we are at home" — and, " I have not time to ex- 



108 THE ROYAL POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTION. 

plain it to you now," are all the replies that many a 
curious, eager-eyed urchin can get in return for his 
incessant questionings. 

We ha\^e here, as at the Royal Adelaide Gallery, 
models and machinery of all kinds ; experiments are 
made and lectures given on interesting subjects, so 
that whatever may be the object or taste of the visitor, 
he may gratify his curiosity, and extend his know- 
ledge. 

A foreign stranger, a Walachian, has joined me. 
You may fancy him going down in the diving-bell with 
Old Humphrey : but I will describe the scene. 

The Walachian, myself, a lady, and a young man, 
mounted the steps, and crept as well as we could into 
the bell, and took our seats: we were then hoisted up 
over the huge well of water, and soon began to descend, 
the face of the young man as colourless as though he 
were about to undergo an execution. The Walachian 
was all animation, but the young man was all fearful- 
ness, almost amounting to terror. 

On one side of the bell was a knocker, with an in- 
scription directing us to rap if we wished to ascend. 
"Shall I knock?" said the young man in great trepi 
dation, before we had descended many feet : but I ask- 
ed him what he wanted to knock for ; and if he had 
left any thing behind him. In a few more seconds. 
"Shall I knock now?" cried out the young man in an 
agony ; but I told him that he must not on any account 
knock till we had reached the bottom. It Avas however 
alUin vain, for young Faint-heart could not contain him- 
self; so laying hold of the knocker, he rapped most 
lustily, and up we came, to the great mortification of 



THE ROYAL POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTION. 109 

the Walachian and myself, and to the evident relief and 
joy of our timorous companion. 

* * # # « 

Well, I have passed three hours in a very pleasur- 
able way — steam-engines, printing-presses, microscopes, 
magnets, orreries, machinery, paintings. Daguerreo- 
type pictures, and scientific apparatus of all kinds have 
been inspected, lectures listened to, and some attention 
paid to the manners of the ever-varying company that 
throng the place ; and now, with my catalogue in my 
hand, before I quit the place, I will just take a glance 
at such things in the exhibition as a stranger will do 
well to regard. Though his taste and mind may not 
altogether agree, yet still my homely remarks may be 
useful. 

Hear what lectures you can, whether on the steam- 
engine, natural philosophy, chemistry, aerostation, or 
the chemical Daguerreotype and electrotype arts ; and 
be sure to see the oxyhydrogen microscope and dissolv- 
ing views, not forgetting afterwards to reflect on what 
you have heard and seen. 

Have an eye to the dock-yard scene attached to tho 
canals in the great hall : go down in the diving-bell, if 
3-0U are curious in such matters and not fearful. Pass 
not by without a pause at that model of the Undercliff 
of the Isle of Wight. Look at the paintings on glass 
copied from Martin's celebrated pictures, and as the por- 
phyry table is valued at three thousand pounds, and tha 
porcelain table cost Napoleon Buonaparte twelve thou- 
sand, you will hardly expect to find them unworthy "bf 
your attention. 

In the ball of manufactures there are lathes, braid 
ing and twisting machines, power-loom and warping 
10 



110 THE ROYAL POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTION. 

mills, and a copper-plate printing press at work. See 
them all. 

In the gallery of the Great Hall you will find many 
things to engage your attention. That Coorg knife and 
Hindoostanee dagger are ugly weapons : they remind 
me of a dagger of the king of Lattakoo, once showed 
to me, which was said to have shed the heart's blood 
of not less than three of his wives. Oh that mankind 
would destroy their weapons of cruelty, and dwell to- 
gether in affection ! 

The card model of the Thames Tunnel ; the shirt 
made in the Philippine islands from the abacas palm- 
tree ; the granite idol from St. Domingo ; the agricul- 
tural implements ; Crosley's pneumatic telegraph ; the 
photogenic drawings ; the hydrostatic bed ; the flying 
windmill ; specimens of cloth four thousand years old ; 
a Guiana wasps' nest ; and the geological specimens, 
must not be neglected : but these are but a very few of 
the very many things of a curious kind that are here 
collected together. 

The Great Hall abounds with articles of interest ; 
fire alarums ; fire escapes ; stomach pumps ; diving 
bell ; diving dress and helmet ; skulls of the elephant, 
hippopotamus, tiger, alligator, walrus, and wild boar ; 
acoustic chair ; water elevator ; with specimens, maps 
and models of all kinds : but I might go on for an hour, 
and still have enough to describe. When you have 
leisure, go to the Royal Adelaide Gallery and the Royal 
Polytechnic Institution : keep your eyes and your ears 
open, and afterwards reflect on what has been submitted 
to your attention, and you will have reason to be grate- 
ful for the knowledge and ingenuity that the Father of 
mercies has delegated to mankind. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. lU 

Well would it be if we were more ready than we 
are to remember and acknowledge that every faculty of 
our bodies and souls is the gift of God, instead of extol- 
ling our own acquirements and boasting of our own 
attainments ! What are we, and what are our domgs, 
compared with the High and Lofty One, and the mighty 
works he has performed ! Our riches, on such a com- 
parison, are but poverty ; our knowledge, ignorance ; 
and our wisdom, folly. Let us offer to God thanks- 
giving, " for of him, and through him, and to him, 
are all things: to whom be glory for ever," Rom. 
xi. 36. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

It is said, " that a man may be known by the 
company he keeps," and it might be added, by the 
places he frequents also ; but though this latter obser- 
vation may be generally correct, it is scarcely applica- 
ble to the frequenters of Westminster Abbey. 

The portals of this far-famed cathedral are entered 
by persons of opposite characters ; the rich and the 
poor go there, the gay and the grave, the learned and 
the ignorant, the infidel and the lowly believer in the 
gospel of Jesus Christ. 

Here, on the sunshiny days of summer, come peo- 
ple from the country, who, having visited London to 
see what is wonderful, naturally enough, come to 
Westmmster Abbey. It is near the parliament houses ; 
it is a grand building ; every body goes there ; and 



112 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

they must give an account when they return to those 
who have never wandered so far from home as London's 
" faire citie." 

These are all valid and substantial reasons why the 
Abbey should be visited. They gaze around with holi- 
day feelings ; listen with good-humoured wonderment 
to the marvellous description of the attendant who 
describes the place, and quit the venerable pile in quest 
of another London " lion." 

In blithesome mood they visit every spot, 
The royal palace, and the switzer cot ; 
Enjoy with equal gust the glare and gloom, 
The mirthful party and the mournful tomb. 

Now and then drops in the country manufacturer, to 
pass away the half-hour he has to spare, before he keeps 
his appointment in the neighbourhood. He enters 
with a somewhat impatient air ; he regards with a 
hasty glance the monuments of the dead : his watch is 
frequently consuhed ; time flies apace, and " business 
must be attended to." He cuts a visit short that is a 
mere parenthesis in the page of his daily pursuits, and 
hurries off to receive the ready drawn bill, and take the 
expected order. 

Then comes the soldier, who has long been taught 
to think that bravery is the highest virtue and that the 
effigied warriors, famous for the destruction wrought 
by them, have the fairest claim to an earthly immortal- 
ity of renown : his bosom rises high at the sculptured 
implements of contention, the neighing war-horse, and 
the wreath of victory on the brow of the dying chief- 
lain. Such would he be, and such the hatchment that 
he would desire to be erected over his mouldering 
bones. Oh that the sons of violence were seekers after 
peace, even that peace that passeth all understanding ! 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 113 

The iearned student, deciphering the time-worn 
inscriptions ; the antiquary, honouring the very dust 
that covers the mouldering memorials of departed great- 
ness : the man of taste, enthusiastically attached to all 
that is excellent in human effort ; and the poet with a 
mind rich in the knowledge of the impressive past, and 
the high-wrought creations of his imagination — these 
wander from one marble group to another^ ardently 
gazing on them all: and Roubiliac, and Bacon, and 
Flaxman, and Nollekens, and Chantrey, and Westma- 
cott, by turns call forth their admiration. 

iMen from distant parts, and of varied languages ; 
females in fashionable attire, and London parties of 
both sexes, are frequently seen walking amid the long- 
drawn aisles, while one amongst the rest gifted with 
speech, runs over a few celebrated names ; praises the 
" pure gothic" of the place ; and repeats a verse of 
Gray's elegy, which, though written in a country 
churchyard, is equally applicable to the ornamented 
abbey of a crowded city : 

" The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Await alike th' inevitable hour ; 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 

Think not that I speak in derision or censure in thus 
glancing at the peculiarities of those who entej the Ab- 
bey of Westminster. 

While noting down these reflections, I am standing 
among the living and the dead, and solemn feelings are 
gathering within me. The armed knight lying supine 
upon his tomb, his gauntleted hands raised in supplica- 
tion ; the pendant banners, once floating in the stormy- 
blast of battle, but now hanging motionless ; the piles 
10* 



114 WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 

of sculptured marble commemorating- the achievements 
of the illustrious dead, and the arresting- inscriptions 
that point to the mortal dust mouldering beneath them 
— all speak the same impressive language, " Prepare 
to meet thy God." The pageantry of these costly 
monuments, however highly estimated, vi^ill soon pass 
away. 

"These little things are great to little men," 

but how pitifully poor, how unspeakably insignificant 
must they be in the sight of the High and Holy One, 
who sitteth on the throne of heaven! The polished 
marble, and gilded inscription, may be well-pleasing in 
the eyes of human beings ; but " the sacrifices of God 
are a broken spirit : a broken and a contrite heart, O 
God, thou wilt not despise." 

Think not, because I thus speak, that I undervalue, 
or affect to feel but little interest in works of art and 
human ingenuity: on the contrary, I am thrillingly 
alive to their magic influence, and having been gazing 
on some of these " breathing statues" with enthusiastic 
admiration. It is only to mark the distinction between 
what is acceptable to God and man, that I thus speak. 
Let us not regard those things which call forth the 
praise of man, as necessarily receiving the approbation 
of God. There is a greater glory resting round the 
lowliest turf, that covers the humblest disciple of the 
Redeemer, than that which gilds the hatchment of 
a hero, or the mausoleum of an unbelieving monarch. 

It would be well if the country visitor and the 
soldier ; the learned man, the antiquarian, and the 
gifted bard ; the young and old ; the citizen and the 
stranger from a foreign clime, on visiting Westminster 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 115 

Abbey, would apply the often-quoted, but heart-search- 
ing inquiry : — 

" Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the tleeting breath? 
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death 1" 

For if these things cannot prolong for a moment the 
life that now is, they will have no influence on that 
which is to come. 

Few persons of any reflection can visit Westminster 
Abbey without admiration of the exquisite specimens 
of human art and ingenuity that decorate the place — 
without feeling a reverence for the resting-places of so 
many illustrious dead, and a conviction of the transitory 
tenure of earthly greatness. While the Christian visi- 
tant, in addition to these, carries his solicitude into an 
eternal world, and sighs while he thinks of many of 
those who have obtained earthly renown. 

Though the grave is a more fit place for the lan- 
guage of humiliation than of praise, yet it does not 
appear unseemly to commemorate on the tomb what- 
ever has been done by the sleeping inhabitant below 
for God's glory, or man's good. When the sculptor's 
chisel and the poet's pen are employed to make us love 
what is truly lovely, and reverence what is worthy of 
our best regard, according to the Scripture standard, 
they serve the cause of virtue ; it is only when they 
pander to vice, and offer homage to the unworthy, that 
th(^y call for reproof 

When sculptured monuments adorn'd with rhymes, 
Perpetuate worthless names, and varnish crimes, 
We blush that lagging time should move so slow 
To rend their records, and to lay them low : 



U6 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

But when the sepulchre, of age or youth, 
Commends the man of virtue, kindness, truth, 
We gladly gaze, and heave an honest sigh 
That marble is not immortality. 

The fables of monkish writers respecting the Abbey 
are better passed unheeded. Enough that Segbert the 
Saxon is the supposed founder of the building ; that 
Edward the Confessor and Henry m. both contributed 
to its execution ; and that Henry vii. erected the splen- 
did chapel which bears his name. It was thoroughly 
repaired and decorated by Sir Christopher Wren, the 
celebrated architect of St. Paul's, and a new choir by 
Keen, and an altar by Wyatt, have been added. 

The portico, called " beautiful," or " Solomon's 
gate," leading into the north Cross, and the elaborately 
decorated east end of the Abbey, seen from the public 
street, are beyond all praise in point of workmanship. 

I have been standing at the western door between 
the towers to take a general view of the interior : and 
the great extent, the stately pillars, the lofty roof, the 
galleries of double columns, the monuments, and the 
fine stained glass in the north, and the great west win- 
dow, all have contributed to excite pleasing astonishment 
and admiration. 

I am now standing in that wonder of the world, the 
chapel of Henry vn , where what before appeared sur- 
passing is surpassed. The brazen gates, the elevated 
ceiling, wrought with wondrous skill and surprising 
variety, the double range of windows, the brown-wain- 
scoted stalls, with their beautifully carved gothic cano- 
pies ; the brass chapel and tomb of the founder, the 
pavement of black and white marble ; these, and the 
motionless banners of the chieftains, blazoned with 
illustrious names well knoAvn to victory and fame, are 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 117 



all striking- in the extreme. Here the mouldering ten- 
ants of the tomb are all of •' royal blood ;" some con. 
nexion with royalty being indispensably necessary to 
secure a resting-place in this peculiar spot. 

The ten chapels that are encompassed by the Abbey 
walls, all contain something which the lover of sculp- 
ture must admire. Now and then a solemn epitaph 
strikes the eye and the heart of the beholder, while not 
a few marble slabs offer up their unseemly incense of 
worthless flattery. Many of those who moulder here 
conquered others, but could not control themselves — 
were wise as to this world, but foolish as to the world 
to come ; and knew many things, without knowing 
Him whom to know is life eternal. 

Monarchs, statesmen, judges, generals, admirals, 
poets, painters, and musicians occupy their several 
spots of earth : death has assigned them all a dwelling- 
place. 

Here lies the " chief lady of the bed-chamber," there 
the " greatest heiress in England," and yonder the 
" master of his majesty's buck-hounds." 

Here is a monument that dem.ands a pause, for be- 
neath it reposes the mortal part of Matilda, wife of 
Henry iv., who, every day of Lent, walked barefoot 
from her palace to the church, wearing a garment of 
hair, washing and kissing the feet of the poorest people, 
and giving them alms ! Such a one must have been 
very humble, or very ostentatious ; let us hope the 
former. 

The conductor has hastened onwards with a group 
of visitants, leaving me alone, I have written with my 
finger on the dust of a monarch's tomb, " Sown ia 
corruption." This is a fit place for reflection. Here 



us WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

kings are crowned, and here they lie down in the grave, 
making corruption their father, and the worm their 
mother and their sister, Job xvii. 14. Here they obtain 
their highest honours, and here they sink to the level 
of the lowliest of their subjects. 

There are some monuments among the many that 
throng this princely pile, this palace of Death, that 
usually attract the especial notice of the visitor. The 
magnificent one of John, duke of Newcastle, is a gor- 
geous assemblage of massive marble, that excites more 
surprise than it communicates pleasure. 

The lofty memorial raised to the memory of John, 
duke of Argyle and Greenwich, is very costly, as well 
as those which conmiemorate the great earl of Chatham, 
and general Wolfe. 

The marble representation of the murder of Thomas 
Thynne, as he drove along in his carriage, arrests the 
eye of the stranger, as well as that of the right honour- 
able Spencer Percival, shot by Bellingham in the lobby 
of the House of Commons. 

The tomb of general George Wade, whereon Fame 
is sculptured in the act of pushing back Time, who is 
hastening forward to pull down a pillar inscribed with 
military trophies, is finely executed ; but in a Christian 
temple we would rather wish to see the records of peace 
and benevolence. 

No monuments, perhaps, secure a greater share of 
public attention than two executed by Roubiliac : the 
first, erected to the memory of lieutenant-general Wil- 
liam Hargrave ; and the second, which commemorates 
Joseph Gascoigne Nightingale, Esq., and his lady. In 
the former one, there is a contest between Death and 
Time, admirably set forth ; and in the latter, death issu- 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 119 

ing from the tomb to smite the female figure above him, 
is almost inimitable. 

The fine full-length figure of the right honourable 
George Canning, lately erected, cannot be passed by 
without admiration. 

The reflective visitant of the Abbey will pause as he 
stands on the pavement before the monuments of lord 
Robert Manners and Chatham ; for beneath his feet lie 
the mouldering earth of the rival statesmen, William 
Pitt and Charles James Fox. The flashing eye has 
lost its lustre : the throbbing pulse, the beating heart, 
the eloquent tongue are still, and the voice of contention 
is no more heard. 

"Taming thought to human pride ! 

The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 

Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 

'T will trickle to his rival's bier ; 

O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 

And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 

The solemn echo seems to cry, 

* Here let their discords with them die.' " 

Nor will the small white marine monument of the 
pious Dr. Watts be passed without emotion. The chari- 
table Jonas Hanway, the philanthropic Granville Sharp, 
and the learned sir Isaac Newton, will in turn demand 
and receive the homage of an affectionate remembrance, 
far more than the generals and courtiers who are in- 
terred here. 

Poet's-corner and its immediate neighbourhood has a 
constellation of names known to the lettered page. 
Would that some, aye, many of them, had sung less in 
praise of mortal creatures, and more to the giory of the 
Redeemer! The monuments of Chaucer, Spencer, 
Prior, and Camden ; Butler, Milton, and Dryden ; Ad- 
dison, Pope, Gay, Thomson, Goldsmith, and other 



120 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

writers, are gazed on by all. Here are monuments, 
too, inscribed to Shakspeare and Garrick With death 
and eternity before us, how dim appear some of our 
brightest earthly stars, and what clouds and darkness 
surround them ! How little do the talented of the earth 
seek the glory of the Lord of heaven ! The inscription 
on one of these tombs, 

" Life 's a jest, and all things show it, 
I thought so once, and now I know it," 

has led to the very suitable reflection : — 

«' Life is a solemn scene : this Gay now knows ; 
Big with eternal joys, or endless wdes." 

But the doors of the Abbey are about to be closed, 
and I must leave this dormitory of the dead. 

Dear as earthly glory may have been to them in days 
that are past, how gladly would the shrouded 'habitants, 
the mouldering tenants of the tombs, now exchange their 
proudest monuments for a place among the just ! 

Death is dealing around his unerring darts ! Time 
is hastening along *vith the stride of a giant, and soon 
must " all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ." 

" Great God ! on what a slender thread 
Hang everlasting things ; 
The eternal states of all the dead 
Upon life's feeble strings ! 

" Infinite joy, or endless woe, 

Attends on every breath ; ' 

And yet, how unconcern'd we go, 
Upon the brink of death ! 

" Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense, 

To walk this dangerous road ; 

And if our souls be hurried hence, 

May they be found with God." 

There is a soul-searching question applicable to each 
of the illustrious dead that sleep in " dull cold marble j" 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 121 

not; ' Did he command the applause of listening- senates, 
or ao, ieve a victory on the battle-field ?" but, " Did he 
die tkf death of the righteous, and was his latter end like 
unto Lis?" Not, " Is his name graven on marble, or 
printed in letters of gold ?" but, " Does it appear among 
the names of those who died in Christ, and is it legibly 
written in the Book of Eternal Life ?" 

He who can quit the Abbey of Westminster with a 
mind unsolemnised with considerations of life and death, 
time and eternity, has visited the place in vain. " Lord, 
make me to know mine end, and the measure of my 
days, what it is ; that I may know how frail I am. 
Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth ; 
and mine ago is as nothing before thee : verily every 
man at his best state is altogether vanity," Psa. xxxix. 
4,5. 



THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 

The stranger, in visiting either the museum at the 
India House, or any other of the numerous exhibitions 
of London, will do well to bear in mind, that his grati- 
fication is almost as dependent on his own mood of mind 
as on the things presented to his observation. Go into 
the country on a wet and dabbling day, and though the 
cottage near the coppice be newly whitewashed, and the 
vine clinging around its walls burthened with grapes ; 
though the river pursue its meandering course, and the 
trees be clad with verdure, yet will you not feel disposed 
to regard the scene with pleasure. But when the sun 
II 



122 THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 

is in the sky, you look on the same scene with gladness ; 
the cottage, the trees, and the meandering river are all 
regarded with enthusiastic delight. In like manner, a 
moody disposition renders every thing uninteresting, 
while a sunny mind gilds all on which it gazes. Oh 
for a more lively and enduring sense of God's goodness, 
that the sunshine of our hearts may be always visible I 
Whatever be the spectacle that is exhibited, serious 
associations will ever, more or less, present themselves 
to a serious observer. It is almost impossible for one 
who regards this life, lighted up as it may be with all 
the fairy lamps of varied enjoyments, as the mere vesti- 
bule of another — it is almost impossible for him to gaze 
on interesting objects without regarding them in connex- 
ion with their influence on the eternal interests of man^ 
He will admire with others the binding, the type, and 
illustrations of a beautiful book ; or the stately spire of 
a village church ; and he will listen to a choir of melo- 
dious voices with delight ; but something beyond this 
will be pressing on his thoughts : the volume will re- 
mind him of the Book of Life, the spire will lead him 
to the skies, to which it points ; and while his ears drink 
in the sounds of earthly melody, he will associate them 
with the sweeter strains of heavenly harmony. 

" To him, the sun and stars on high, 
The flowers that p lint the field. 
And all the artless birds that fly, 
Divine instructions yield. 

"The creatures on his senses press, 
As witnesses to prove 
His Maker's power and faithfulness, 
Hi» providence and love. 

"Thus may we study nature's book, 
To make us wise indeed ! 
And pray for those who only look 
At what they cannot read." 



THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 123 

I have stood in front of the India House to admire its 
handsome Ionic portico, and to gaze on the emblematic 
group of figures above, wherein George iii., Britannia, 
and Liberty, Mercury, Navigation, and the Tritons, 
Commerce, Order, and Religion, Justice, Integrity, and 
Industry, are assembled. The " noble Thames," first 
of British rivers, is portrayed on one side, and the "sa- 
cred Ganges" on the other ; while Britannia occupies 
the most elevated part of the buildmg, with Europe and 
Asia somewhat below. These things are disregarded 
by the good people of London ; the stranger alone is 
seen to gaze upon them : and he, after an unsuccessful 
attempt to decipher the symbolic group, hastens across 
the street, to mount the steps, and to enter the massive 
portico. 

The East India Company is rich and powerful. 
The words must have been a sad puzzle to many a rich 
worldly-minded nabob, " It is easier for a camel to go 
through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to en- 
ter into the kingdom of God," Matt. xix. 24. 

I have walked through the court and court-room, the 
new sale-room, and other apartments, as well as the va- 
ried offices of this extended edifice, and am now in the 
museum. I long for the luxury of a printed catalogue ; 
but no such thing is to be obtained. Why it should be 
so is a mystery. 

The practice of hurrjang the spectator from one thing" 
to another as fast as the names of them can be run over, 
is very unpleasant, and yet it is altogether unavoidable 
so far as the attendant is concerned. The only comfort- 
able way of proceeding is, to dispense with the atten- 
dance of the conductor ; to wander where you like, and 
linger where you will : most of the curiosities here are 



124 THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 

labelled, therefore this plan is attended with little incon- 
venience. 

Who, in a flower-g-arden, would go round every bed 
in regular succession? why, it would take away the 
better half of the gratification. Sweeter far it is to roam 
and to revel at liberty ; to gaze on the gaudy tulip, the 
stately hollyhock, and the blushing rose ; and to inhale 
the grateful perfume of the honey-suckle, the sweet- 
brier, and the violet, without restriction. It is the same 
in a museum, and, therefore, I will find my way through 
the present one, taking the path that seems for the mo- 
ment the most attractive. 

But, first, let me ask what has given birth to this 
museum ? The time is not distant when Britain had no 
possession in India, and now, wonderful to tell, a com- 
pany of British merchants bear rule, either directly or 
by the influence of their allies, over a million square 
miles of territory, and more than a hundred millions of 
people. They have stretched the strong arms of power 
over a country seven or eight thousand miles distant 
from their own, and subjected the inhabitants to their 
control. The museum principally contains curiosities 
from this far distant land ; natural and artificial produc- 
tions, mingled with the spoils of warfare. 

Here is the squatting, cross-legged Boodha Gaudama, 
the object of worship with the Boodhic sects of India ; 
and here are a score or two of household gods, as hid- 
eous as heathen hands could make them ; and these 
miserable stocks and stones have received that adoration 
which is due to God alone. What is man without a 
knowledge of God ? Yea, what is he, even with that 
knowledge, unless restrained by Divine grace ? While 
the heathen holds an idol in his hand, we may have one 



THE MIISETTM AT THE INDIA HOUSE, 125 

In our hearts. We may not bow down to the Indian 
Apollo, Krishna, nor mingle in the sanguinary rites of 
the infernal Kali. The obscenities of Seva and Maha- 
deva may be unknown to us, and the bacchanalian or- 
gies required by the goddess Doorga may be unac- 
knowledged and unpractised ; but the leprosy of sin has 
spread among us from the crown of the head to the sole 
of the foot, and the purifying waters of the Fountain 
opened for sin and uncleanness, can alone make us 
whole. 

The capture of Seringapatam, the capital of the My- 
sore country,, was an event of great importance to the 
India Company, and every relic which has been ob- 
tained of Tippoo Saib, the cruel tyrant who reigned 
there, is preserved with great care. There are many 
of his silken banners, decorated with the blazing sun, 
rent by the ravages of Avar ; his helmet, his mantle, his 
armour, and the foot of his throne, as well as his waist- 
coast, a handkerchief, and a fragment of the slab of stone 
upon Avhich he was wont to kneel in offering up his 
adoration. His helmet is made of cork, covered with 
silk ; his mantle bears an inscription in Persian, setting 
forth that it had been dipped in the holy well at Mecca, 
and rendered invulnerable. Desperate was the attack 
made on Seringapatam by the British and native troops, 
and desperate the defence of Tippoo, his guards, and his 
tiger grenadiers : had not a stray shot severed the chain 
of the drawbridge, the siege might have been prolonged. 
Tippoo had French engineers ; he fought bravely, and 
his body was found under an archway covered with 
slain. 

This musical tiger is a proof of the tyrant's ferocity. 
It was a favourite pastime of Tippoo's to turn round the 
11* 



123 THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 

handle of this machine, that the tiger might spring on 
the prostrate soldier, as if to tear out his heart : the pite- 
ous moans of the soldier, and the yell of the tiger, were 
sweet music to him. The machine or organ, for such 
it may be called, is getting much out of repair, and does 
not altogether realize the expectation of the visitor. 

I have been looking at the ship made of cloves, the 
spinning-wheel used by the ladies of Cashmere, and the 
Chinese tomb-stones ; each has an interest of its own. 
When will the day arrive when the walls of ignorance 
and superstition that gird the cities of China shall fall 
flat before the ram's horn blast of the gospel of peace ? 
When will Chinese tomb-stones bear the Christian in- 
scription, " Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord ?" 

The paintings up above there are not likely to be 
taken for Claude Lorraine's ; and yet, as Chinese pic- 
tures, they are not without interest. They represent 
events that correspond with the dilTerent seasons. The 
feast of lanterns, in spring ; the Chinese wedding, in 
summer ; the funeral, in autumn ; and the mandarin 
hall of audience, in winter. Some visitors seem much 
taken with these paintings, while others pass them by 
as things of no consequence. 

The dagger with the inlaid hilt, the sword of a 
Gorkha chief, and the khookri, or pioneer's knife, re- 
mind one of desperate deeds, Avhen the cold steel and 
the heart's warm blood hold fearful communion. The 
sight of them conjures up scenes of oriental conten- 
tion, and the fierce attack, the death grapple, and the 
last gasp of the expiring combatant succeed each other. 

Those Avho have recently witnessed the splendid col- 
lection of classified birds in the British Museum, will 
perhaps think that these cases of Bombay and Java 



THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 127 

birds have but a sombre appearance : but the true lover 
of natural objects, under all circumstances, will admire 
the varied form and plumag-e of the feathered race. 
The animals, the birds, and the butterflies of the mu- 
seum, vv^ill not be disregarded. What a sweet and en- 
couraging thought is that of the poet respecting birds 
of passage, when applied to the weakest believer in the 
gospel of Jesus Christ ! 

" Birds, through the wastes of the trackless air. 
Ye have a guide, and shall we despair 1 
Ye over desert and deep have past, 
So shall ue reach our bright home at last." 

With what force must the sword-fish have darted for- 
ward through the briny deep to pierce the ship's tim- 
ber to this extent ! Whatever was the cause of quarrel, 
the finny combatant had cause to rue its displeasure. 
The loss of its formidable weapon must have been irre- 
parable. 

The antiquary will not pass by the handwriting of 
Oliver Cromwell unheeded ; he will ponder, too, on the 
Chinese abacus, or counting board ; and still longer will 
he linger over the Babylonish bricks, and the arrow- 
headed characters in stone, which have hitherto baffled 
the attainments of the linguist and the learned. No 
one has yet been able to decipher this ancient inscrip- 
tion. 

These are from the banks of the Euphrates, and are 
relics of ancient Babylon, and some would fain regard 
them as portions of the Tower of Babel ; but without 
investing them with so remote an antiquity, they take 
us back to the days when " Nebuchadnezzar, king of 
Babylon, came unto Jerusalem, and besieged it," when 
" Belshazzar the king made a great feast to a thousand 



128 THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 

of his lords, and drank wine before the thousand," and 
when Daniel was " cast into the den of lions." 

And am I in reality gazing on what was then in ex- 
istence? Were these fragments of perishable earth 
coeval with great and mighty Babylon? Yet why 
should I gaze astonished at the lesser wonder, and re- 
main unimpressed by the greater. The sun that is 
even now gilding the roof above me, the moon and stars 
that to-night will adorn the canopy of the skies, were 
in existence before Adam walked erect upon the earth, 
and ever since have they performed their daily and 
nightly courses, issuing through the boundless immen- 
sity, the voiceless proclamation, " The Lord God om- 
nipotent reigneth." 

" And what, in yonder realms above 
Is ransom'd man ordain'd to be ? 
With honour, holiness, and love, 
No seraph more adorn'd than he. 

"Nearest the throne, and first in song, 
Man shall his hallelnjahs raise; 
While wond'ring angels round him throng, 
And swell the chorus of his praise." 

The pillow used in the Friendly Isles is enough to 
put luxurious ease to the blush, while the Chinese rock- 
work in bronze-wood casts a spell over the curious visi- 
tor. These ivory temples, these mother-of-pearl and 
embossed-silver men, and trees, and birds, are beautifully 
executed, and the admirer of art will be in no haste to 
leave them. 

These punkahs, or large fans, must be very useful in 
the sultry clime of Hindoostan. Their waving to and 
fro must give a breeze hke that occasioned by a win- 
nowing machine ; but we in England can hardly esti- 
mate their value. The cup of water that we throw 



xiiE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 129 

away here, would be precious in the sandy desert of 
Africa, and the punkah, which in England is useless, 
is a necessary appendage in the bungalows of Bombay, 
Madras, and Bengal. 

I have been looking at the head and tusks of an ele- 
phant, with the idols and warlike weapons in the adjoin- 
ing room. The houdah and splendid canopy, richly 
overlaid with silver, are from the rajah of Burtpoor. 
and they conjure up imaginary scenes. Ghauts, jungles, 
and tiger hunts, elephants, rajahs, and rupees, are rising 
before me in strange confusion ; painted budgerows are 
gliding the river, ornamented palanquins are borne 
along its banks. Coolies, sepoys, Malays, and soldiers, 
are mingling with Hindoos, Parsees, and Turks, moon- 
shees and merchants, dark Ethiopians and fair Euro- 
peans. Loosely flowing robes, turbans as white as 
snow, and fringed panjammahs ; armlets, bangles, ear- 
rings, and nose-jewels, are seen in all directions ; while, 
in the distance, pagodas, temples, and joss-houses, are 
diversified with mangoes, spreading bananas, and tow- 
ering palms ! 

On entering the library, the large Chinese lanterns 
attract attention ; but the place is full of interest to the 
oriental scholar, for a copy of every book that has 
been written relative to the laws and history of Asia, is 
here deposited, whether its language be European or 
Asiatic. 

In addition to these, a splendid collection of oriental 
manuscripts enriches the place ; they are highly illu- 
minated with vivid colours and burnished gold, while 
their mythological designs, and the silky paper on 
which they are written, add to the interest they excite. 

Tippo Saib's copy of the Koran is a curiosity, as 



130 THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 

well as the book of his dreams, written with his own 
hand, and accompanied with his own interpretations. 
The infatuated monarch dreamed chiefly of what was 
uppermost in his mind, the expulsion of the English 
from India. The dreamer and his dreams are come to 
nought. 

Monarchs, like meaner men, can only live their little 
hour, for '^ all flesh is grass, and all the goodliness 
thereof as the flower of the field." 

Hark, hark, a cry is gone abroad 

From every peopled plain; 
It sAveeps along the sounding shore, 

It murmurs from the main; 

From every varied spot of earth, 

Where human creatures be, 
It echoes loudly through the land, 

And spreads from sea to sea. 

From palace wall, and humble cot, 

From town, and village lone ; 
From every newly open'd grave, 

And every churchyard stone; 

In every language under heaven 

A voice repeats the cry, 
"Thy days are number'd, mortal man; 

And thou art born to die." 

Of printed Cliinese books there are hundreds of vol- 
umes before me ; they have covers or cases of a blue 
colour, which fasten with a flap and button. How few 
of us who visit this place can decipher a single charac- 
ter ! The Malayan manuscripts are formed of leaves 
of the palm-tree, and the characters are scratched on 
them with a pointed instrument. 

Here are Batta and Siamese manuscripts, and Birman 
in the Sali character, which is considered by the natives 
to be sacred ; warlike weapons and musical instruments, 
used by the Battas, are abundant ; the carved combs, 



THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 131 

with, very long teeth, and Indian dresses, and shirts of 
gold and silver chain, and work-boxes, and costly books 
of Indian scenery. 

This library is an excellent room to make one hum- 
ble ; and many a proud scholar has no doubt left it 
with a lowlier estimate of his owm attainments. Latin, 
and Greek, and Hebrew, cannot be brought to bear on 
the bewildering characters of Malay, Batta and Chi- 
nese, Persian, Bengalee and Hindoostanee manuscripts : 
but the schoolmaster and the missionary are abroad, 
and in various oriental languages are now made known 
to eastern lands the unsearchable riches of the gospel 
of peace. 

Great conquests have attached to them great respon- 
sibilities. May that influential Company to whom I 
am indebted for the gratification of the passing hour, 
be impressed with this serious conviction, and regard 
the hundred millions of human beings under tkeir 
control, not only as creatures of time, but as heirs of 
eternity. 

Thus have I wandered through this varied museum 
without a guide, passing by much more than I have 
noted down ; but even now. before my departure, let 
me take another peep at the skull of the Batta chief 

Stern chieftain, what avail thy victories and thy re- 
nown ? Far from the land of thy birth, over the wide 
world of waters, hast thou been borne, to be made a 
spectacle to strangers. So much for thy prowess and 
thy nobility. Yet even here thy influence may be ra- 
ther increased than diminished. 

Grim monitor of dissolution, thou preachest solemn 
truths, and seemest to say, " If death alTright thee, 
leam to look beyond it." Though tKou speakei^; 



132 THE MUSEUM AT THE INDIA HOUSE. 

not, there is language in thy looks, and thus will 1 
translate it : 

"Trust not thy hopes, though fair and free, 
That merely for a moment shine : 
But rather ask what they will be 
When thy poor head resembles mine." 



THE COLOSSEUM. 

The Colosseum is truly one of the " lions" of London, 
and few strangers visit the metropolis with the intention 
of seeing the wonders of the place, without entering 
the gates of the Regent's Park, looking with surprise 
on the colossal dome before them, mounting by the 
stair-case, or ascending-room, to the grand painting it 
contains, and gazing with wonder and admiration on 
the panoramic view of the capital of England. Often 
and often have I been here before with city friends or 
country cousins ; and now I am here again. Carriages 
are standing opposite the gate ; the sun is at its great- 
est height in the clear, blue sky ; and visitors of both 
sexes, and of all ages, are passing onwards to see the 
Colosseum. 

It has been said, with some truth, that of all the 
panoramic pictures that ever were painted in the world, 
of the proudest cities, formed and inhabited by* the 
human race, the view of London, contained in the 
Colosseum, is the most pre-eminent, exhibiting, as it 
does, at one view, " to the eye and to the mind the 
dwellings of near a million and a half of human be- 
ings, a countless succession of churches, bridges, halls, 



TlIE COLOSSEUM. 133 

theatres, and mansions ; a forest of floating masts, and 
the manifold pursuits, occupations, and powers of its 
ever-active, ever-changing inhabitants." 

This splendid picture, painted by Paris, from sketch- 
es taken by Hornor, as he sat in a suspended house or 
box, fixed for the purpose above the highest cross of the 
Cathedral of St. Paul, is now before me, and the al- 
most universal encomiums pronounced upon it, have a 
tendency to repress that freedom of remark in w^hich it 
is pleasurable to indulge. If I venture an observation, 
it will only be with the design of preventing disappoint- 
ment in the mind of the spectator, whose high-wrought 
fancy, fed by intemperate descriptions may have made 
him somewhat unreasonable in his expectations. 

It should ever be borne in mind, that in works of 
art there are unavoidable difficulties in the way of 
aflbrding a correct representation of persons and things. 
The most glorious statue that Phidias ever formed, has 
neither colour nor motion. Think of the arduous task 
of representing, by colourless and motionless marble, 
breathing beings who possess both motion and colour ! 
To use an illustration sufficiently homely to be at once 
comprehended by those who have little taste for works 
of art, I would say, that we should hardly know the 
most intimate friend we have in the world, did he stand 
before us, arrayed in a surplice, with his face whitened. 

Paintings, it is true, have colour, but the most glow- 
ing picture that was ever flung by a Rubens, or a Ra- 
phael, on his canvass, is on a flat surface. Think of 
the difficulty of representing the rotundity of the hu- 
man figure, trees, and pillars, and the projection of ca- 
pitals, cornices, and pediments, by a perfectly flat sur- 
face! Such considerations as these are calculated lo 
12 



134 TIIE COLOSSEUM. 

prevent unreasonaole expectations, and to qualify us foi 
tlie more correct estimation of works of art. I have 
noticed visitors, who have evidently expected, when 
looking at this panorama, the water of the Thames to 
flow, the Doats to move, the smoke from the chimneys 
to rise in the air, and the carriages, of different kinds, to 
rumble along- the streets : that such persons should not 
find the panoramic painting of London realize their ex- 
pectations can be no matter of wonder. 

The printed account of the picture sums up almost 
all its points in the following- words : — •' From a balus- 
traded gallery, and with a projecting- frame beneath it, 
in exact imitation of the outer dome of St. Paul's Ca- 
thedral, the visitor is presented with a picture that can- 
not fiil to create, at once, astonishment and delight ; a, 
scene which will inevitably perplex and confuse the eye 
and mind fjr some moments, but which, on fuither 
examination, will be easily understood. It presents 
such a pictorial history of London ; such a faithful dis- 
play of its myriads of public and private buildings ; 
such an impression of the vastness, wealth, business, 
pleasure, commerce, and luxury of the English metro- 
polis, as nothing else can effect. Histories, descriptions, 
maps, and prints are ail imperfect and deft ctive, wheft 
compared to this immense panorama. They are scraps 
and mere touches of the pen and pencil : while this 
imparts at a glance, at one view, a cyclopsedia of infor- 
mation ; a concentrated history : a focal topography of 
the largest and most influential city in the world. The 
immense area of surface which this picture occupies, 
measures forty-six thousand square feet, or more than 
\n acre in extent." 

This is unquestionably a coloured account; but it 



THE COLOSSEUM. 135 

may, I think, with truth be said, that almost all who 
visit the exhibition are greatly surprised, and abundantly 
gratified. There are now some twenty or thirty per- 
sons in the gallery ; children are climbing up to peep 
over the rails. Ladies are looking through the per- 
spective glasses, and gentlemen are pointing out such 
objects as engage their attention. One discovers West- 
minster Abbey, Flyde Park, and Kensington C4ardens. 
Another finds out Primrose Hill, Chalk Farm, High- 
gate Archway, and Epping Forest : while a third turns 
towards the downward course of the river, the Docks, 
and Greenwich Hospital. Now and then a visitor 
traces his way to his own dwelling, and regards it with 
a look of surprise and pleasure, almost expecting to see 
some one step up and rap at the door. 

The two turrets at the western end of St. Paul's Ca- 
thedral, attract the eyes of all ; the boldness, the free- 
dom with which they are painted, produces an admira- 
ble effect ; and scarcely is the stranger convinced that 
he is not gazing on a real and tangible pile of beauti- 
fully carved stone. The river and shipping are great 
attractions to the young ; while the thoughtful eye of 
the more sedate and serious roams over the goodly tow- 
ers and spires of the different churches, and other tem- 
ples erected to the service of the Most High. 

London is a highly-favoured city ; for though igno- 
rance and crime are far too prevalent among its numer- 
ous population, yet here is the gospel of peace faithfully 
proclaimed ; and here thousands and tens of thousands 
find the sabbath to be, indeed, a day of rest. Wealth, 
and power, and reputation among the nations of the 
earth are costly things ; but they are mutable and per- 
ishable. The proudest and the costliest things of time 



136 THE COLOSSEUM. 

are as dust compared with those of eternity. Thebes, 
and Nineveh, and Babylon had power, and weahh, and 
reputation ; but their transgressions muhiplied, and they 
were swept away from among the kingdoms of the 
world. The Almighty Ruler of the earth and skies 
spared them not. Take heed, highly-favoured city, lest 
he also spare not thee ! 

There is a youthful group about to ascend the gal- 
leries above, and as I am pleased to hear their childish 
questionings, and to witness their wonderment and de- - 
light, I will ascend with them. In this second gallery, 
and still more so in the one above, the spectator experi- 
ences a disappointment. Expecting to see more as he 
ascends higher, he is scarcely prepared to find his pros- 
pect bounded within apparently narrower limits than 
before. The lower gallery is unquestionably the best 
and the most agreeable of the three from which to wit- 
ness the exhibition. One more glance at this shadowy 
resemblance of the first city, in the first country under 
heaven, and I take my leave. Ages have heaped toge- 
ther this pile of dwelling-places, temples, and marts of 
traffic. Again and again have their possessors been 
swept into eternity. The feeble have sunk into the 
tomb; and the great, where are they? Yet still un- 
disturbed the game of life goes on, in thoughtless mer- 
riment. 

"Oh, what is human glory, human pride? 
What are man's triumphs, when they brightest seemi 
What art thou, mighty one ! though deified 1 
Methuselah's long pilgrimage a dream ; 
Our age is but a shade, our liJie a tale. 
A vacant fancy, or a passing gale." 

I have walked round the ball and cross which origi- 
nally stood on the top of the dome of St. Paul's Cathe- 



THE COLOSSEUM. 137 

dral, and am now on the roof of the building-, with the 
Park spread out before me. How grateful is the fresh 
air ! how pleasant the sight of the green trees, and the 
clear blue heaven above me! The eye took in so 
many objects at once, in the painting below, that it now 
seems, by comparison, to have but little to gaze on. One 
peep at nature, however, compensates for the loss of 
much art. 

Every time I visit this place, the Park appears more 
lovely ; the trees and shrubs Avhich have hitherto been 
of diminutive growth, begin now to put forth their 
strength and verdure. Were there but one tree in the 
world, we should be struck dumb with admiring won- 
der at its loveliness and beauty ; but now, we pass by a 
Avood without a thought — a forest, without a word in its 
praise ! 

If it appears a long way up these winding staircases, 
when the desire is impatient to behold the picture, no 
wonder that it should seem a long way down them 
when that desire has been gratified. The music of 
prattling tongues, and tho footfall of childish feet, have 
preceded me from the very roof to the door of the as- 
cending room, on the ground floor. Now for another 
scene ! 

On entering the saloon, I find public singers, of both 
sexes, accompanying with their voices the harmonious 
tones of a well-played pianoforte. The company are 
gathered around them ; the ladies seated, and the gen- 
tlemen uncovered ; while the vocal and instrumental 
strains are rising and falling ; now filling the air wiih 
swelling cadence, and now dying away into fainter and 
sweeter sounds. I am stealing on tiptoe from one cast 
or sculptured statue to another. 
12* 



138 THE COLOSSEUM. 

Apollo, Jupiter, and Juno strive 
To keep the fame of ancient Greece alive ; 
Minerva spells me where 1 stand ; and now 
I gaze delighted on aDian's brow. 

The gigantic figures of Moses, and Melpomene, with 
the head of Alexander ; the cast of the Apollo Belve- 
dere : the Discobolus, or quoit player ; the fall of Phae- 
ton ; Perseus and Andromeda, and the Dying Gladiator ; 
are all well known to the lovers of sculpture. 

The statue whence the head of Jupiter Olympus is 
taken, was the great work of Phidias, and was esteemed 
as one of the seven wonders of the world. Though in 
a sitting posture, the figure of Jupiter was sixty feet 
high, composed of ivory, and adorned with precious 
stones. 

The head of the Dancing Fawn is from a statue, a 
chef-d'a3uvre of the chastest sculptor of Greece. Though 
there is some doubt whether the figure w^as executed by 
Praxiteles, there is none ihat the head and arms were 
restored by Michael Angelo. As there were giants in 
stature, in the ages of old, so w^ere there giants in sculp- 
ture in the ancient days of Greece and Rome. 

Among the relievos, I notice that of Sir William 
Jones, surrounded by the learned Pundits, who assisted 
him in his great undertaking of translating and forming 
the digest of the Hindoo and Mohammedan laws ; Col- 
lins the poet contemplating the Bible ; Mercy ; and an 
Angel presenting to view the word of God. There 
are also, among the figures, David, with the head of 
Goliath. " And David took the head of the Philistine, 
and brought it to Jerusalem ; but he put his armour in 
his tent," 1 Sam. xvii. 54. The death of Abel. "And 
Cain talked with Abel his brother : and it came to pass, 
when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against 



THE COLOSSEUM. 139 

Abel his brother, and slew him," Gen. iv. 8. And a 
monumental figure of Prayer, " Let my prayer be set 
forth before thee as incense ; and the lifting up of my 
hands as the evening sacrifice," Psa. cxli. 2. 

There is a gallery of paintings here, in which are a 
few good pictures, and many that are curious ; but it 
does not form a part of the Colosseum exhibition. I 
have walked through it alone, and am now on the 
lawn, on my way to the conservatory. The figure of 
Time, there, is in artificial stone, and the two Dogs are 
bold representations of the celebrated dogs at the en- 
trance of the public gallery at Florence. 

I could linger in this conservatory for an hour. It 
somewhat reminds me of the huge glass erections in 
Loddige's garden at Hackney, in which is so fine a col- 
lection of palms, cocoa-nut, and other tropical trees, that 
a tiger, with a little brushwood, is only wanted to form 
a complete Indian scene. The trees and plants, here, 
flourish luxuriously, for the temperature of the several 
compartments of the conservatory is adapted to their 
several natures and qualities. The botanist will not 
hastily leave the place, finding, as he will, the finest 
specimens of various plants and trees : and the Chris- 
tian spectator may be reminded that — 

Believing hearts are gardens too, 

For grace has sown its seeds, 
\Vhere once, by nature, nothing grew 

But thorns and worthless weeds. 

In opening the door which divides one part of the 
conservatory from the other, the visitor is suddenly con- 
fronted by an imposing figure close before him : this is 
no other than his own reflection mirrored in the glass 
door. The suddenness of this unlookedfor stranc-'^" 



140 THE COLOSSEUM. 

occasions many to give an instantaneous start. Few of 
us are so well acquainted with our full length figure, 
as instantly to recognise it when it unexpectedly appears 
before us. 

I have not passed by the gold and silver fish in their 
miniature-sculptured pond, without a gaze; nor neg- 
lected the aviary, wherein is one garrulous bird, whose 
language, for the greater part, is unintelligible. The 
cage, here, is indeed a curiosity, for within its Aviry pre- 
cincts, rats and cats, guinea pigs, pigeons, and starlings, 
are congregated together in peace ; the rats running 
underneath the soft furry bellies of the cats to hide them- 
selves from the light and from the gaze of the approach- 
ing spectator. There is, at this momrnt, a rat on one 
of the elevated bars, almost asleep ; he nods and dozes. 
and dozes and nods, until his head hangs down many 
inches lower than the rest of his body. Half a dozen 
times has he saved himself just in time to prevent his 
tipping over. I have pointed him out to a few visitors 
who are gazing on him with interest and wonder. 

The lofty dome which is now above my head, glazed 
from the ground to the summit, has a lightsome and 
agreeable effect, heightened by the abundant flowers, 
creepers, and pendant plants which adorn it. The foun- 
tain, too, with its circular basin, beautified with shell 
an4 coral, adds much to the iliiry scene. The ring of 
jets-d'eau is admirably contrived, flinging up a beauti- 
ful transparent veil of crystal water high in the air. 
The fountain, basin, and rock work ; the shell, coral, 
and moss, lit up by the rays of the sun, and beautified 
by the prismatic colours on the spray and falling waters, 
form a scene equally novel and delightful. 

The eye has a Avondrous property of accommodating 



THE COLOSSEUM. 141 

itstlf to different degrees of light. When I entered this 
grotto and marine cave, live minutes ago, I could 
scarcely discern a single object, whereas now every 
thing is comparatively clear to me. The wall and floor 
of rugged rock ; the uneven roof incrusted with stalac- 
tites ; the yellow gold-like glare of the sun on the mas- 
sive pillars and huge misshaped crags ; the crystal pools 
and waterfalls around, become every moment more dis- 
tinctly visible. This is a fit place for contemplation. 
Just such a residence for an anchorite, as starts up in 
our imagination, when we read of the hermit, of whom 
it is said, 

*' Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days; 
Prayer all his business; all his pleasure praise." 

The ship there, seen through the opening, heaving 
and tossing on the billowy waters, though on a minia- 
ture scale, has, when in better trim, been very effective, 
assisted by the sea-like sound that accompanies its rising 
and sinking amid the foamy surge. 1 can fancy my- 
self on the pebbled beach, gazing on the heaving ocean. 

" The sea it iii deep, and the sea it is wide, 
And it girdeth the earth on every side. 
Like a youthful giant roused from sleep 
At creation's call uprose the deep ; 
And his crested waves toss'd up their spray, 
As the bonds of his ancient rest gave way ; 
And a ^'oice went up, in that stillness vast. 
As if life through a mighty heart had pass'd. 
O, ancient, wide, unfatliom'd sea, 
Ere the mountains were, God fashion'd thee!" 

Whatever may be the disposition of the visitor to this 
place, he cannot, with any colour of propriety, complain 
of the scantiness, or want of variety in his entertainment. 
The panorama of London, the conservatories, fountains 
and waterfalls, the grotto and marine cave, the Swiss 



142 THE COLOSSEUM. 

cottage, rock scenery, camera obscura, and cosmoramic 
views, supply as much amusement as can reasonably be 
expected, and occupy quite as much time, in their enjoy- 
ment, as the generality of people have at command. 

The Swiss cottage has four apartments, fitted up in 
the manner in which cottages in Switzerland are usually 
furnished ; and the attendant, a civil attentive man, 
habited in the costume of a Swiss peasant, helps to carry 
on the agreeable delusion, that Mont Blanc and the 
Lake of Geneva are at no great distance from the place. 
The view from the recessed window is of a very roman- 
tic kind. Mountains, rocks, pointed crags, and caverns ; 
•waterfalls, lakes, and streams : with birds of prey, wild 
ducks, and creeping plants are so agreeably blended, 
and so beautifully reflected in the water, that imagina- 
tion has much to assist it in conjuring up all that is wild 
and wonderful in nature. 

There is something in a waterfall that aflfects us in a 
different manner to other things, especially if it assume 
the ungovernable rage of the thundering cataract. The 
broad-breasted mountain, the rifted crag, the fearful pre- 
cipice, are arresting : but the headlong torrent, dashing 
its foaming waters over the pointed rocks, adds heart- 
stirring motion to its imposing appearance, and creates 
a more active and turbulent interest in the mind. It 
seems a correct image of that glory for which so many 
jeopardize their bodies and their souls. 

■ " O Glory ! Glory ! mighty one on earth ! 

How justly imaged in the waterfall! 
So wild and furious in thy sparkling birth, 
Dashing thy torrents down, and dazzling all ; 
Sublimely breaking from thy glorious height, 
Majestic, thundering, beautiful, and bright. 



THE COLOSSEUM. 113 

" How many a wandering eye is tiirn'd to thee, 
In admiration lost ! short-sighted men ! 
Thy furious wave gives no fertility ; 
Thy waters, hurrying fiercely through the plain, 
Bring nought but devastation and distress, 
And leave the flowery vale a wilderness 

" Oh fairer, lovelier is the modest rill, 
Watering with steps serene the field, the grove — 
Its gentle voice as sweet, and soft, and still 
As shepherd's pipe, or song of youthful love. 
It has no thundering torrent; but it flows 
Unwearied, scattering blessings as it goes." 

The Swiss view, with the chapel erected in remem- 
brance of the patriot William Tell ; The Lake of Lu- 
cerne ; the silver mine of Mexico ; the missionary sta- 
tion at Malacca, w^ith the Anglo-Chinese college, where 
Dr. Morrison carried on his Chinese translation of the 
Holy Scriptures, and composed his Anglo-Chinese dic- 
tionary ; all these have their several interests ; and the 
visitor lingers, or hurries on, as his mind is impressed, 
or his associations called forth. 

Independent of the things immediately appertaining 
to the exhibition, there are many fortuitous circum- 
stances, always occurring to the quick eye and active 
mind, that vary the scene and increase the amount of 
pleasure. A well-dressed young woman, perhaps, seats 
herself in " Queen Adelaide's or the Stuart's chair ;" 
and it is plain, that for the moment she is fancying her- 
self to be a queen. An ardent young man reclines at 
full length on ""the bench of Napoleon Buonaparte ;" 
his imagination supplies all that is wanted to make him 
an emperor, and a visionary diadem is glittering on his 
brow. 

Nor are the more sober and reflective less likely to 
be moved to follow out their contemplative inclination*!. 
Here a faded branch gives a colour to their shadowy 



144 THE COLOSSEUM. 

thoughts : and there the willow, a scion of the one that 
bloomed over the St. Helena grave of Napoleon — thai 
Napoleon whose body is now in the splendid mauso 
leum prepared for its reception in the capital of France. 
While I note down these remarks, a spider is weaving 
his fragile thread — an emblem of the precarious tenure 
of earthly things — across the statue of Sir Jeffry Hud- 
son, the favourite dwarf of Charles ii., as it stands be- 
fore me, near the dome and the fountain. We cling to 
our earthly hopes and worldly attainments as though 
they had the strength of a cable, when, alas ! they are 
weak as a spider's thread ; for life itself " is even a va- 
pour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth 
away." Happy, indeed, is he who can say, with sin- 
cerity and confidence, in the midst of all he possesses, 
" Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none 
upon earth that I desire beside thee. My flesh and my 
heart faileth ; but God is the strength of my heart, and 
my portion for ever," Psa. Ixxiii. 25, 26. 

# * * # * 

Many changes have taken place at the Colosseum 
since I penned down the foregoing remarks. Among 
them a glacierium has been introduced there, so that 
those who are fond of skating may pursue .hat amuse- 
ment in summer as well as in winter. I used to skate 
myself, but the skating davs of Old Humphrey are over 
for ever. 



THE MODEL OF PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND. 145 



MODEL OF PALESTINE, 



HOLY LAND. 

There are many exhibitions in London of a much 
more attractive kind than that of the model of Palestine, 
or the Holy Land, near Somerset House ; but hardly 
any more useful, especially to those who love their Bi- 
bles : for, like the panorama of Jerusalem, it deepens the 
conviction of the truth of Holy Writ in the mind of the 
visitor, and thus confers, instead of a temporary gratifi- 
cation, an enduring benefit. 

It is not a pleasant thing to be deceived as to the cor- 
rectness of a thing of this kind, but the model of Pales- 
tine is the production of one whose general character, 
and whose residence in the Holy Land for many years, 
afle)rd a reasonable pledge to the public that every care 
has been taken to render it as accurate as possible. 

The model is formed on a table, about eighteen feet 
long by nine broad. It is made of cement, and painted 
of a greenish cast ; the sea, lakes, and rivers, are light 
blue. The eye of the spectator takes in, at one view, 
the whole of the land of Palestine. The cities are re- 
presented by bits of carved cork, and the towns by white 
circles. The royal cities are signified by Roman let- 
ters, the Levitical cities by circles and scrolls, and the 
cities of refuge by circles and crosses. There are also 
gilt lines drawn to show the several boundaries of the 
diflx?rent tribes, and pale lines to mark out the roads. 
13 



146 MODEL OF PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND. 

As the model of the Holy Land has few charms for 
any but biblical readers and travellers, the visitors are 
comparatively few. It is no fashionable lounge, tempt- 
ing us pleasantly to pass away an idle hour, but a 
place of sober interest, wh«;re Christian associations 
and reflections may be indulged without interruption. 

To turn such an exhibition to account, the visitor 
should repose a generous confidence in the correctness 
of the interesting scene before him ; for where would 
be the advantage, if it could be done, of proving that 
the Sea of Galilee is a little too much to the north, and 
Jerusalem a little too much to the south ? What would 
it matter as to the general correctness of the whole, if 
it were ascertained that the river Jordan is represented 
too broad, and the Dead Sea rather too narrow ? The 
whole extent of the Holy Land is but about two hundred 
miles, and in breadth only about half that amount ; 
therefore there is not room enough to err widely from 
the truth. 

We are all apt to desire that things should be made 
more plain to us than they are, and sometimes to think, 
Oh that the records of Holy Writ could be in every 
particular as little associated with doubt in our minds, 
as the things visible to our sight, and the realities of a 
future state be made as clear and palpable to us as the 
things which we can handle and feel ! But how un- 
reasonable is this desire ! Humility must be exercised, 
faith must be tried. Christians must know the hidings 
as well as the revealings of their heavenly Father. 

The model of the Holy Land, like the panorama of 
Jerusalem, rebukes the Christian spectator with his 
very limited knowledge of these places, which might 
be expected to be as familiar to him as his household 



MODEL OF PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND. 147 

goods. He may happen to know that Palestine is the 
southern district of Syria ; that Mount Libanus is the 
barrier of the north, and the desert of Pharon on the 
south; that the mountains of Flermon and Gilead rise 
to the east, and the Mediterranean flows on the west ; 
but he is a stranger to the general bearing of the re- 
markable places in the Holy Land. He remembers 
the names of Jerusalem, of Bethlehem, of Shechem and 
Samaria; of Jericho, of Nazareth, of Tiberias and 
Capernaum, and can call to mind what events occurred 
there, as well as at Bethel, at Bethpage, and Bethany ; 
but the view presented to his eyes by the model of Pal- 
estine, is altogether new to him. 

It may be, that in these remarks I am somewhat un- 
just ; that a feeling persuasion of my own ignorance 
has led me to judge unfavourably of the knowledge of 
others ; but if I be in error, the simple questions and 
unlearned observations of such as I have met at the 
model, have contributed to deceive me. 

The Holy Land is so closely connected with the 
judgments and mercy of God, with the historical rela- 
tions of the Old, and the yet more interesting events of 
the New Testament, that it must ever remain, in the 
estimation of the Christian world, the most remarkable 
country on Avhich the sun throws his beams. It was 
called the " land of Canaan," because the Canaanites, 
the descendants of Ham, the son of Noah, dwelt there. 
It was styled the " promised land" because it was prom- 
ised to the seed of Abraham. It derived the name of 
" Palestine" from Syria Palestina, a name given by 
Herodotus the historian. It was named " Judea" from 
Juda, the tribe which remained faithful to the ordi- 
nances of the Lord after the ten tribes had revolted and 



148 MODEL OF PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND. 

eeparated; when the kingdom of Israel had passed 
away, the kingdom of Juda or Judea was still in pow- 
er : and it was designated the " Holy Land," principally 
because therein was wrought the great mystery of hu- 
man redemption by our blessed Redeemer. 

The land of Palestine may be regarded as a stage 
whereon have been represented scenes of the most mo- 
mentous character ; and the contrast between its past 
greatness and present humiliation cannot but impress 
the reflective mind with the frail tenure of human glo- 
ry. From Dan to Beersheba the land was once inha- 
bited by the favoured people of God ! but the high and 
Holy One, who " showeth mercy unto thousands of them 
that love him and keep his commadments," visited, in 
his righteous displeasure, the sins of the fathers upon 
the children, unto the third and fourth generation of 
them that hated him, and rebelled against him. 

The Babylonians came upon them like a flood, and 
brake down their walls and fenced cities, and led them 
into captivity. But did the proud kings of idolatrous 
Babylon escape the anger of the Lord ? Let Nebu- 
chadnezzar, humbled and brought low, eating grass 
like the ox ; let Belshazzar, fear-struck by the hand- 
writing on the wall, and smitten by the conquering 
Medes, reply. 

The Persians became masters of Palestine, but the 
Macedonians overcame them, and were themselves 
overcome by the kings of Syria and Eygpt. Then 
came the victorious Romans, till, in the reigns of Ves- 
pasian and Titus the Jews were wholly subdued, and 
nearly destroyed. 

" In 1291, the Christian dominions in Palestine were 
reduced to within the narrow confines of the city of 



MODEL OF PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND. 149 

Acre, and the Pilgrims' Castle, a strong fort of the 
Templars. These were at length invested, and the 
grand master, William de Beaujeu, took the command 
of the garrison. The old and feeble were sent away 
to the island of Cyprus, then the seat of the Latin 
kingdom, and none remained in the devoted city of 
Acre, but such as were prepared to suffer martyrdom 
rather than yield to the infidels. Military engines of 
the most formidable construction v/ere set in operation 
by the besiegers : six hundred instruments of destruc- 
tion were directed against the fortifications, and the bat- 
tering machines were of such immense size and 
weight, that a hundred wagons w.ere required to trans- 
port the separate timbers of one of them. All the 
military contrivances which the skill of that age could 
produce, were employed to facilitate the assault. After 
thirty-three days of constant lighting, the great tower, 
or key of the fortifications, was thrown down. At 
length the double wall was forced, and a body of Mam- 
looks penetrated to the centre of the city. The knights 
drove them back with immense carnage, and precipita- 
ted their bodies from the walls. At length, the number 
of the Templars was reduced to three hundred, and 
these fought their way to the strong Temple at Acre, 
and shut themselves up. This little band was at length 
destroyed beneath the ruins of their Temple, which the 
Sultan had caused to be undermined. Thus fell the 
last stronghold of the Christians in Palestine, and with 
it every reasonable hope of recovering possession of the 
Holy City." 

After that, the caliphs and the Turks each possessed 
the Holy Land. During the crusade, or holy war, it 
was retaken, but Saladin, the Saracen sultan of Egypt, 
13* 



150 MODEL OF PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND. 

soon after called it his own. In 1516 it again camiB 
under the dominion of the Ottoman Turks, who have 
held possession to the present day. It w^as once famed 
for its holiness, it is now notorious for its depravity ; 
once celebrated for its magnificence, it is now proverbial 
for its desolation. 

Whilst glancing over the model of Palestine, the 
names which meet the eye gradually recall to the vis- 
itor's remembrance the various events recorded in Scrip- 
ture ; and, should his memory be defective, the Bible 
at the upper end of the model lies ready to assist him. 

Nearly four thousand years ago, " Abram took Sarah, 
his wife, and Lot, his brother's son, and nil their sub- 
stance that they had gathered, and the souls they had 
gotten in Haran ; and they went forth to go into the 
land of Canaan, and into the land of Canaan they came." 

It is more than three thousand years since Joshua, 
with all the children of Israel, passed over Jordan to 
possess the land; and eighteen hundred since the coming 
of our blessed Redeemer, according to the word of 
prophecy, " And thou, Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, 
art not the least among the princes of Juda : for out of 
thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people 
Israel." 

It is almost impossible for one seriously disposed 
to regard an authenticated model setting forth the diffe- 
rent places in the Holy Land, without feeling a desire 
for an increased knowledge of Scripture history. To 
read over more carefully the pages of Holy Writ has 
been, no doubt, the secret detfi'nanation of many who 
have visited the exhibition. Cana of Galilee, and 
Mount Carmel, and Joppa, and Kadesh-Barnea, and 



MODEL OF PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND. 151 

Tyre, and Sidon, all recall something to remembrance 
strikingly interesting. 

But there is another point of view in which the 
model of Palestine may be of some service. Exhibit- 
ing, as it does, that portion of the earth which was the 
earthly inheritance of the people of God, the glory of 
which is, at this day, corrupted, defiled, and faded, it 
may awaken in the mind a deeper concern for " an in- 
heritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth 
not away, reserved in heaven." Though the land of 
Palestine, the earthly land of promise, a land of brooks 
of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of 
valleys and hills ; a land of wheat, and barley, and 
vines, and fig-trees, and pomegranatt s ; a land of olive- 
oil and honey, is, for the sins of its inhabitants, become 
a land of desolation ; yet is there a heavenly pi'omised 
land whose beauty will never perish. Sin shall not 
there separate the people of God, the followers of the 
Redeempr, from their everlasting inheritance, nor cut 
them off from an abundant entrance into eternal life. 
It becomes us, then, to look more anxiously and more 
ardently than ever after our promised heavenly inheri- 
tance. On what foundation docs our hope stand ? are 
we building on the shifting sands of human merit, or 
on the eternal Rock of ages ? Are we looking to our- 
selves, or to the Lamb that was slain, for an abundant 
entrance into everlasting life 1 Again and again should 
these questions be put to our hearts ; and again and 
again should these words tingle in our ears, " All have 
sinned, and come short of the glory of God," Rom. 
iii. 23. We cannot be too much in earnest about this 
matter, nor too frequently repeat to ourselves the words, 



152 THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 

" Fly to the Redeemer ! for there is none other name 
under heaven given among men whereby we must be 
saved," Acts iv. 12. 



THE PANORAMAS 



MONT BLANC, LIMA, AND LAGO MAGGIORE. 

As we are possessed of various dispositions, capaci- 
ties, and degrees of information, we are variously af- 
fected by the works of nature and art ; and it ought to 
be a cause of unfeigned thankfulness that so many 
sources of gratification and delight surround us. The 
unlettered spectator is not without his share of pleasure 
derived from natural objects ; the naturalist, more 
highly gifted, sees a beauty in what others consider to 
be the deformed works of creation ; and the Christian 
naturalist, rising still higher in his enjoyments, sees, 
throughoot the whole creation, innumerable marks of 
Divine wisdom, power, and goodness. 

The remarkable sights of the metropolis are often 
called " the lions of London ;" now there are the lions 
of the different countries of the world, as well as of 
London, and one of these lions is Mont Blanc. 

In Europe we have Stonehenge, and the lakes of 
Westmoreland ; the Giant's Causeway, and the falls 
of the Clyde ; the grotto of Antiparos, the Black Fo- 
rest, and the Lago Maggiore ; the boiling Geysers, burn- 
ing Vesuvius, Herculaneum^ the Maelstrom, and the 



THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 153 

icebergs of the north. In Asia, Persepolis and the 
ruins of mighty Babylon ; Jerusalem, the caves of 
Elephanta, and the wall of China. In Africa, Thebes, 
the Great Desert, and the Pyramids ; and in America, 
Lake Superior, Cotopaxi, and the Falls of Niagara. 
These are some of the " lions" of the earth, and few 
persons have seen them all. 

The highest mountain in Asia, and in the world, is 
Chamoulari ; Geesh lifts its head above all others in 
Africa ; Sorata is the loftiest summit m America ; 
and the highest in Europe is Mont Blanc in Switzer- 
land. 

I have indulged in these reflections while sitting- on 
the circular bench, that my eye may get a little fa- 
miliar with the wide-spread panoramic painting of Mont 
Blanc around me ; but my vision, even now, is a little 
confused ; the mountainous masses are too near me, I 
must continue my abstractions. 

Some of the favourite enterprises of mankind are 
clothed with additional interest by the dangers which 
surround them. There are three of these enterprises 
that appear to be just within the verge of practicability : 
they have long called forth the fearless intrepidity and 
enterprising perseverance of resolute and inquisitive 
men. The first is the enterprise of penetrating into 
the heart of Africa ; the second, that of finding a north- 
west passage from the Frozen Ocean to the Great 
Pacific ; and the third is, the ascent to the summit of 
Mont Blanc. The two former enterprises have not 
yet been attained ; but the latter has, in several in- 
stances, been successfully accomplished. 

Paccard, Saussure, Beaufoy, Woodley, Forueret, and 
Doorthasen, have gazed around from the summit. Ro- 



154 THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 

daty, Meteyeski, Renseyler, Howard, Undrel, and ClIs* 
sold, have achieved the same adventure : and Jackson, 
Clarke, Sherwell, Fellows, Hawes, Auldjo, Barry, 
Tilly, and Waddington, encouraged by the successes 
of those who had preceded them, mounted also to the 
giddy height, more than fifteen thousand feet above the 
level of the sea. Nor has man alone triumphed in this 
ambitious enterprise ; for the foot of woman has left 
its impress on the proudest summit of the monarch 
mountain. 

But let us now look at the panorama. It is a bold 
attempt on the part of man to mimic nature in her sub- 
limest forms. Not long ago, within this building, we 
could almost fancy we heard the thundering din of 
Niagara, spell-bound by the attractive representation of 
the great falls. At the present time, only some stairs 
above us, the fairy scene of La go Maggiore is winning 
the hearts of the beholders, and here is Mont Blanc, 
vast, stupendous, and thrillingly arrestive. 

I have walked round the area occupied by spectators, 
and gazed on the bulky bases and colossal spires of the 
snow-clad eminences so strikingly depicted. The mon- 
tagnes, the aiguilles, the glaciers, the rochers, and the 
hameaux, have each characters of themselves ahogether 
new to an untravelled eye. 

After the first surprise of the spectator is a little 
abated, and the mingled masses of earth, and ice, and 
snow have somewhat disentangled themselves ; when 
the varied points that rise up to the sky have receded 
into their relative distances, the inquiry is made, 
" Which is Mont Blanc ?" for so many aspiring pin- 
nacles appear to be worthy of the distinction, that the 
spectator is quite at a loss to decide, and something like 



THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 155 

disappointment is felt on finding Mont Blanc to be a 
distant, and by no means conspicuous peak, when com- 
pared with some of the bolder eminences near the spec- 
tator's eye. A little good sense will reconcile us to this 
disappointment. 

There is no point of view in which the highest peak 
of Mont Blanc could have been faithfully portrayed as 
a prominent object, without the omission of the striking 
group of eminences here drawn together. The painter, 
in securing the most interesting view of the Alpine 
scene he had to represent, has been constrained to throw 
the giant mountain into the distance, where it is appa- 
rently overtopped by other pinnacles. Five times 
already have I heard the natural enough ejaculation, 
" Why the aiguilles on the left are higher than Mont 
Blanc !" The fact is, that the aguilles on the left are 
much nearer the spectator than Mont Blanc on the 
right, and hence arises their great apparent elevation. 

A traveller, just returned from the Alps, with whom 
I have been conversing for half-an-hour, assures me 
that, though he retains his opinion of the utter impossi- 
bility of transferring to canvas a faithful representation 
of the monarch mountain, yet he never expected to see 
so good an Alpine picture as the one before him. 

In gazing on a panorama, we ought to assist the 
painter, rather than throw impediments in his way. If 
it be a difficult attempt to represent an altitude of fifteen 
thousand feet, let us not increase that difficulty by refus- 
ing an effort of the imagination. Let us remember that 
we are supposed to be gazing on Mont Blanc from an 
eminence of several thousand feet. The brushwood, 
for such it appears, in the valley there below, clothing the 
foot of the mountain, consists of pines, many of them fij&y 



156 THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 

feet high ; we should therefore take these, rather than 
our fellow spectators around us, for our standard. 

What a noble point is that yonder, on the left, the 
Aiguille du Dru, shooting upwards to the sky! the 
solid shaft at the top is, alone, four thousand feet in 
height, and the whole mountain more than twelve thou- 
sand. Regard the Mer de Glace, and the Glacier des 
Bois, a mass of ice two hundred feet thick, and seven 
miles in length, stretching down into the valley. 

That pathway, faintly traced across the woody moun- 
tain from the valley, is the Sentier du Montanvert, and 
mules are frequently bearing along it the different par- 
ties who go to gaze on the Mer de Glace and the 
snowy mountains. Further on the right is the valley 
of Chamounix. 

The ascent of Mont Blanc has usually been effected 
by the route to the east of the Glacier des Buissons ; 
the Grand Mulct is then gained by winding round the 
base of the Aiguille du Midi. The next point to 
achieve is to mount the Plateaux. The Tacul and the 
Rocher's rouges follow ; and then comes the giant of 
the old world, Mont Blanc, lifting his head 15,775 feet 
above the Mediterranean. 

The mighty monarch of the wild, 

With beaming brow looks down ; 
He wears a robe of changing clouds, 

Eternal snow his crown. 

He sits upon a rocky throne, 

Unmoved by gloom profound ; 
While storms, and thundering avalanche, 

Spread ruthless ruin round. 

The longer the spectator gazes on the scene oefore 
him, the nearer does it approach reality. Painting can- 
not give the height of the mountains, the glitter of the 



THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 157 

icy glacier in the sun, nor the crash of the falling ava- 
lanche ; but these are supplied by the ardent imagina- 
tion while revelling among the massy rocks and snow- 
clad peaks. The treasured snows of a thousand winters 
are here piled high amid the mountains, and the streams 
of as many summers are stopped and frozen in their 
course. All is vast, arresting, and magnificent. 

We talk of St. Paul's, and St. Peter's, but what puny 
toys are they, compared with the stupendous temple of 
the Alps, erected by the hand of an Almighty Archi- 
tect! A thousand glittering spires mount up to the 
very skies, and roofs of gilded snow, immeasurably 
spread, weary the eye with their vast extent. Oh for a 
choir of heaven-tuned hearts to pour forth the praises 
of the Eternal ! But such aid is not needed ; the pictu- 
resque beauty, the vast immensity, the dread magnifi- 
cence, and unbroken silence, proclaim emphatically, as 
with a burst of hallelujahs, " The Lord God omnipotent 
reigneth!" 

One can hardly enter into such a scene as this with- 
out yearning to gaze on the great original mountain ; 
nor can w^e avoid conjuring up before us imaginary 
scenes consistent with the impressions we have received. 
Let us, for a moment, indulge our fancy : let us draw a 
sketch or two in keeping with these dreary wilds. 

The mountains are covered with grey mist, for the 
sun has not risen ; yet already the chamois-hunter is 
abroad. He has toiled up the rugged steeps in the night, 
that he may look down on the chamois at the peep of 
dawn. With his spiked shoes, his cord, his axe, and 
his wallet, his flask, his iron-shod pole, and his double- 
barrelled gun, he winds round the craggy rock and nar- 
row ravine: he rests his unerring tube on the project- 
14 



158 THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 

ing point, and the death-shot is re-echoed in all direc* 
tions. 

The chamois is wounded ; he flies over the glaciers 
and frozen snow, and leaps down the most fearful preci- 
pices : but see ! the hunter is on his track. With des- 
perate energy, he flings himself with his pole over the 
ravines ; with resolute determination he lets himself 
down the precipices with his cord, and hews himself 
steps with his axe ; difficulty only excites his ardour ; 
his courage is increased by his danger ; he overtakes 
the wounded chamois on a narrow ledge of rock, hardly 
broad enough to stand on, with a fall of a hundred 
fathom below. 

Again he mounts the craggy barrier, his shoulders 
burdened with the slaughtered chamois ; he halts on a 
broader ledge of rock, while the sun gilds up the snowy- 
peaks above and below him ; he takes from his bag a 
bit of cheese, with a morsel of barley-bread, and raises 
his flask to his lips ; with recruited strength, he pursues 
his dizzy and dangerous course. He flings himself 
over the chasm ; he avoids the tumbling avalanche ; he 
descends the precipice, and is met some distance up the 
mountain by his anxious wife and eldest daughter. 
They know that there is but a step between him and 
death, and the frail tenure on which they hold him as a 
husband and a father makes them cling to him with te- 
nacious affection. 

See ! yonder a party are toiling through that narrow 
pass. Even yet the glaciers glitter in the ruddy beams 
of the rejoicing sun, and the pinky rhododendron throws 
cheerfulness around: but another tale is told in the 
northern sky; the black-winged tempest is flying 
abroad. Look at the party in the pass now! The 



THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 159 

frowning avalanche is tremb ing above them ; it fails ! 
they are buried in the overwhelming ruin ! Not a sigh 
is heard, not a struggle seen. The snow lies smooth 
and unsullied over the hapless beings it has entombed. 
Scenes like these are far too common ; when we hear 
of them in England, they reach us as the echo of a ca- 
lamity that is past ; we feel not the dread reality of a 
present and overwhelming affliction. 

Who goes yonder ? It is one of the party, a travel- 
ler, who has scrambled his way through the falling 
avalanche, with a child in his arms. He has been lost 
in the intricate windings and dangerous passes of the 
place, and is fainting with want, fatigue, and anxiety ; 
he sinks exhausted upon the cold snow, and presses his 
frost-bitten child to his bosom. What has made him 
again raise his dejected head ? He has heard a panting 
near him ; he has felt the warm breath of an animal 
close to his mouth. Is it a wolf about to devour him ? 
He opens his eyes ; the w^arm red tongue of a shaggy 
dog is licking his hands and his face ; he makes an ef- 
fort to rise, and finds a flask of spirits fastened round the 
dog's neck ; he puts it first to his own mouth, and then 
to that of his child ; they both revive ; the dog leads the 
way, barking loudly ; the traveller and child follow. 
They are soon met by two monks, summoned to the spot 
by the barking of the dog, who conduct them to the hos- 
pitable convent of Great St. Bernard. 

How like an angel man appears when, with a face 
beaming with compassion, he goes forth on an errand 
of mercy ! Monks of St. Bernard, Samaritans of the 
mountains, I fling you my warmest thanks ; they are 
the free-will offering of a stranger ; the ardent outpour 
ings of a heart that honours you. 



160 THE PANORAMA OF MONT BLANC. 

The peopled side of the panorama is far from unin- 
teresting. That cross is almost a reality. The led 
mule, the old man with his stick, and the lady in the 
blue bonnet, seem to live and move as we gaze upon 
them. The guide, there, gathering a flower, is a pic- 
ture of itself; but enough : those who visit this Alpine 
scene will leave it with a feeling of having travelled ; — 
as though Switzerland and they were not entirely stran- 
gers. 

Some, too, by the mountainous masses will be more 
deeply impressed with the power of the Almighty Ma- 
ker of the " everlasting hills," and find more than ordi- 
nary comfort in calling to mind that merciful promise 
m God's holy word, " The mountains shall depart, and 
the hills be removed ; but my kindness shall not depart 
from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be 
removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee." 

"Yes, sooner all the hills shall flee, 
And hide themselves beneath the sea; 
Or ocean, starting from its lied. 
Rush o'er the cloud-tnpp'd mountain's head ; 
The sun, exhausted of its light, 
Become the source of endless night; 
And ruin spread from pole to pole, 
Than Christ forsake the humble soul." 



LIMA, AND THE LAGO MAGGIORE. 

And this is " Lima," of the •' land of the sun ;" the 
"city of the kings:" the " Peruvian capital!" The 
broad masses of greenish white in the fore-ground build- 
ings, the vivid colours of the flags and other objects, 
and the blue mountains in the distance, mingle too much 
together. A little time must be allowed for these ob- 
jects to disentangle themselves ; the edifices must take 



THE PANORAMAS OF LIMA, AND LAGO MAGGIORE. l6l 

up their proper stations, and the hills must withdraw to 
a greater distance. 

Ay ! now the scene is more intelligible ; the chaos is 
assuming an appearance of order and distinctness : I 
can now gaze on it with pleasure. 

Lima must be estimated rather for its scenery than 
Its associations. It has neither the antiquity of Thebes, 
nor the heart-thrilling interest of Jerusalem. The as- 
sociations which cling to Lima are of a melancholy 
cast ; but of them we will speak by and by. 

The spectacle is very imposing. It has a novelty 
and freshness that greatly recommend it ; and if the 
foreground buildings are monotonous, the distant pros- 
pect is varied and delightful. 

It is pleasant to catch the glimpses of character, the 
little vignettes that every now and then may be noticed 
among the visitors of a public exhibition. 

The young people on my left seem somewhat puz- 
zled about the situation of Lima. One thinks it must 
be in the East Indies, while the little fellow in the yel- 
low cap and gold tassels, standing on tiptoe, looking at 
the friars in their white dresses, has just cried out, " I 
can see the Turks very plain, mamma." 

Ten minutes ago I overheard an elderly female in- 
quire if Mont Blanc was visible from Lima ? " Not 
without a good glass," jocosely replied a young man 
belonging to the same party, giving a significant glance 
at one of his companions. Now, the distance between 
Lima and Mont Blanc muM fee, at least, six thousand 
miles, so that a very peculiar glass would be required. 

The untravelled have usually a somewhat confused 
notion of foreign countries, and cannot keep them suf- 
ficiently separated ; the negro in Africa is too closely 
14* 



162 THE PANORAMAS OP LIMA AND LAGO MAGGIORB. 

connected with the West Indies ; and the snowy peaks 
of South Americ* mingle imperceptibly with the glaciers 
of Switzerland. 

One or two loud talkers have Veen drawing the com- 
pany into a narrow circle, of which they and the su- 
perintendant formed the centre. Generally speaking 
visitors are shy in attracting attention by asking ques 
tions. 

Lima was mounded in the valley, and by the river 
Rimac, three hundred years ago, by Francisco Pizarro, 
a Spaniard. Tales have often been spread in the coun- 
try parts of England, that London streets were paved 
with gold and silver ; but though this was not true of 
London, it would have been in a degree true if applied 
to Lima ; for when one of its viceroys entered the city, 
the streets he passed through were covered with ingots 
of silver. Some estimate may be formed of the wealth 
of its religious establishments, from the fact, that more 
than a ton and a half of silver was taken from them a. 
one time. 

The population of Lima is about 60,000 ; a fourth 
of them are Creoles and Europeans : they are much 
given to show and splendour ; jewels, equipages, and 
retinues are their delight. A little more industry and 
cleanliness, with a great deal less luxury and dissipa- 
tion, would add to their comfort and enjoyment. The 
interiors of some of the better kind of houses are 
splendidly furnished ; and beautiful papers, costly silks, 
and magnificent gildings, profusely adorn them. The 
city is surrounded on all sides, except that next the riverj 
with a wall from fifteen to twenty feet high, and nine 
thick. This wall hat thirty-four bastions, and seven 



THE PANORAMAS OF LIMA AND LAGO MAGGIORE. 163 

principal gates. It was originally built to defend the 
place from the attacks of the Indians. 

The mountains that rise majestically round, some 
pointed and covered with snow, give a beauty and sub- 
limity to the scene, while the blue mists that, here and 
there, partly enshroud them, resemble scattered clouds. 
Lima is not now what it has been ; for two or three 
centuries it flourished, but repeated earthquakes destroy- 
ed more than half its houses and public edifices, espe- 
cially the fatal " shaking of the earth in 1746." When 
the hand of the Almighty is stretched out against a city, 
it is shaken to its very foundations. 

The struggle for independence, though successful, 
has decreased its population and wealth; but, in all 
probability, these it will rapidly regain. 

I must now give a rapid glance at the wide-spread 
canvass around me. 

Who would suppose that the church and convent of 
San Augustin yonder, with that gorgeous front of 
twisted pillars, arches, recesses, and figures — who would 
imagine that all the imposing edifices around it were 
nothing more than lath and plaster ! Yet so it is. They 
look like buildings of massive stone, yet wood-work and 
cement compose them all : indeed, the meaner buildings 
are little better than walls and roofs of mud. In a cli- 
mate where a shower of rain would excite wonder, 
these frail erections stand for years uninjured. 

To the right of the Monastery de las Nazarenas, in 
the extreme distance, I catch a glimpse of the great 
Pacific Ocean, whose mighty flood rolls nearly over 
half the world. 

Churches, convents, monasteries, and sanctuaries, 



164 THE PANORAMAS OF LIMA, AND LAGO MAGGIORE. 

seem to crowd upon me in every direction. The con- 
vent of Santo Domingo, is very attractive. 

The merry couple there, dancing on the flat roof of 
the house, with the group beside them, catch the eye 
of every spectator ; and the guitar-player, in his broad- 
brimmed hat and white garments, comes in for his share 
of attention. 

To the left of the river Rimac, but scarcely distin- 
guishable, is the circus for the bull-fights — the cruel 
sport that the Spaniard loves ; and Lima was founded 
by Spaniards. 

The procession to the cathedral is imposing ; the 
white-robed priests, the coloured flags, and the long 
line of soldiery, can scarcely be viewed without emo- 
tion ; while the kneeling figures offering homage to the 
canopied host, as it passes by, excite a feeling of com- 
passion and regret, that useless ceremonies, and wafers, 
and crucifixes, should receive the reverence of immortal 
souls, which forget God, who has forbidden all idolatry, 
and who should be worshipped in spirit and in truth. 
To point the finger of scorn, or to indulge in bitterness 
or sport, against such ceremonies as we disapprove, 
would be alike unkind and unchristian ; but it cannot 
be wrong to breathe a prayer that all superstition and 
idolatry may be done away, and that in simplicity 
and godly sincerity all may worship the Father and his 
Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ, that Lamb of God that 
alone taketh away the sins of the world. 

While Lima is a goodly picture to gaze on, what 
are its associations 1 Those who have pondered on the 
history of the conquest of Peru too well know. 

Unhappy Spain may, even now, be endurmg God's 
righteous retribution. National sins bring down na* 



THE PANORAMAS OF LIMA, AND LAGO MAGGIORE, 165 

tional punishment ; and the internal broils, the distract- 
ed councils, and civil wars of that unhappy country may 
be an expression of Divine displeasure for the unex- 
ampled cruelties and oppressions practised by Spaniards 
in South America. 

There has flowed a crimson tide in Peru, for which 
all its splendour cannot atone. An accusing cry 
has g-one up from Mexico to heaven, that all its gold 
cannot arrest ! 

Tens of thousands of the people of these countries 
were ruthlessly pillaged, and savagely slaughtered, in 
what is called " the conquests of Spain." No marvel 
that our poet laureate, when indignantly reflecting on 
the butcheries of Pizarro, should have proposed for a 
monument at Truxillo, words similar to these : — 

" Pizarro here was born ! A greater name 
The lists of glory boast not : toil, and want, 
And danger, never from his course deterr'd 
This daring soldier. Many a fight he won : 
He slaughter'd thousands ; he subdued a rich 
And spacious empire 

Such was Pizarro's deeds, and wealth, and fame, 
And glory, his rewards among mankind. 
O reader ! though thy earthly lot be low, 
Be poor and wretched ; though thou earn'st thy bread 
By daily labour : thank the God that made thee, 
That thou art not such as he !" 

It becomes us not, sinners as we are, to indulge in 
bitterness against those who are the most heavily laden 
with crimes ; but to pass by deeds of relentless atrocity 
in silence, because they have been gilded over with 
earthly splendour, will manifest little discrimination, and 
still less humanity. It is by preserving a tender con- 
science, by keeping our minds in a state of shrinking 
susceptibility to the sins of covetousness, oppression, and 
cruelty, that we may hope^ through the Divine bless- 



166 THE PANORAMAS OF LIMA, AND LAGO MAGGIORE. 

ing-, to escape their hardening- influence, aid hateful 
contamination. 

Spain owes to South America a debt of ten tnousand 
talents, let us, as far as we have ability, help to pay a 
part of the great account ; let us pay her with good- 
will, with deeds of kindness, with Bibles, with mission- 
aries, with religious publications, and with our prayers. 

It is time now to peep at the Lago Maggiore. These 
panoramas are sources oi much gratification. Many 
pleasures which are ardently sought after, are attended 
with inconvenient expense, and will not bear an after 
reflection : a dissatistaction, a regret, and sometimes a 
reproach, follows them as a shadow ; but this is not the 
case when we visit a panorama. 

It is a long way to the top of this staircase, and the 
infirm must tind these resting places very agreeable. 
Time has been when I should have skipped on from 
the bottom to the top without a pause ; but I must not 
complain, for I can manage the matter now quite as well 
as most of my neighbours. 

The h^igo Maggiore is a sweet scene, a constellation 
of beauties, wherein art and nature are beautifully 
blended. Buildings, gardens, wood, water, mountain, 
and sky. are all attractive. 

And is it no just cause of thankfulness that the most 
interesting scenes of diflerent parts of the world are thus 
brought within our reach by tlie pencil of the painter ? 
I think it is. It is a privilege to gaze on the northern 
regions without having to contend with icebergs, hun- 
ger, and cold : on Thebes and Jerusalem, without the 
pirates of the Archipelago, the Bedouin of the desert, 
the lion of the forest, and the crocodile of the river : on 
Lucknow, and on Ceylon with its elephants, without 



THE PANORAMAS OP LIMA. AND LAGO MAGGIORE. 167 

snakes and mosquitoes ; on Lima, without earthquakes ; 
and on the Lago Maggiore, without fear of the Italian 
bandit. 

Since entering the circle in which I am now stand- 
ing, the exclamation, " Beautiful !" has reached my 
ears in twenty different voices. We really want a new 
importation of exclamations wherewith to express our 
emotion in such a situation as this. If a word can be 
worn out, the word •• beautiful'' must be getting the 
worse for wear. 

This scene is really enchanting. Let others dis- 
cover that the lake and mountains are a little too blue ; 
that the ugly post-like support of that sculptured Pe- 
gasus, that winged horse on the Isola Bella, is not ex- 
actly what it ought to be ; I have no other inclination 
than to admire the galaxy of pleasurable objects around 
me. 

Of the three celebrated lakes of Lombardy, the Lago 
Maggiore, as its name implies, is the largest. The 
Isola Bella, or Beautiful Island, forms the attraction of 
the panorama. It has long been classed among the 
wonders of Italy. The palace, the garden, the pyramid 
of terraces, the orange, lime, and citron trees, rise, as 
by enchantment, from the surface of the glassy lake. 
The place once was a barren rock, but mdustry has 
made it fertile, and now hedges of mjTtle, bowers of 
jasmine, cypress, and laurel trees, some ninety feet 
high ; grapes, olives, peaches, and pomegranates, adorn 
the spot in profusion Regard the mingled foliage ris- 
ing among the tasteful erections on the island. Look 
at that blooming aloe advancing towards the spectator 
from the brink of the water. Gaze on the mountain 
clothed to its very summit with luxuriant vegetation. 



168 MISS linwood's needle-work. 

Turn which way you will, the lake with its rafts and 
vessels, the islands and towering eminences, all conspire 
to heighten your enjoyment. 

For sweetness and repose, nothing can exceed our 
own country scenes. The cottage with the blue smoke 
under the wood ; the magnificent oaks and noble elms, 
that adorn the grassy meadows ; the upland lawn, the 
sequestered glade, and the rippling brook, have a cha- 
racter of their own that is balm to the bosom of an Eng- 
lishman ; but, for all this, having the opportunity, I 
would not willingly forego the gratification of gazing 
on a scene like that of the Lago Maggiore. 

" I dearly love to trace 

Through nature's varied page, 
God's goodness and his grace, 

The same in every age. 
O grant that I may faithful be 
To gospel light vouchsafed to me !" 



EXHIBITIONS. 



MISS LINWOOD'S NEEDLE-WORK— DUBOURG'S ME- 
CHANICAL THEATRE— MADAME TUSSAUD'S WAX- 
WORK—MODEL OF ST. PETER'S AT ROME. 

This exhibition of needle-work speaks loudly in 
praise of the industry and perseverance of Miss Lin- 
wood. I would that I had arrived half an hour earlier, 
for then the good lady herself was here ; and now, as 
she is upwards of eighty-seven years of age, and visits 
London but once a year, it is hardly likely that I shall 
ever see her. When she is beckoned away from the 



MISS LIN wood's exhibition. 169 

world, may her grey hairs go doA\Ti to the grave in 
peace, and her spirit enter on the life eternal. 

It would be too much to expect from the needle the 
softness, the delicacy, and truthfulness of the pencil. 
Worsted- work, though well adapted to represent cloth- 
ing, and still better suited to counterfeit the skins of wild 
beasts, is not all a fit medium to portray the grace, the 
beauty, and intellectual expression of the human face. 
Seen at a distance, these performances have a pictorial 
effect, and in some instances possess an advantage over 
oil-coloured paintings, but they will not endure the 
scrutiny of an eye ardently awake to nature's perfec- 
tions, and quick to discover a departure from truth. 
They must be regarded with indulgence, bearing in 
mind not only the real merit they possess, but also the 
difficulty encountered and overcome in making them 
what they are. The exhibition commends itself, espe- 
cially to females, and no doubt affords them, as excel- 
lent specimens of needle-work, a fair share of grati- 
fication. 

Among the collection are not only fruit, birds, ani- 
mals, and portraits, but also familiar scenes and histori- 
cal representations. Raphael's Madonna Delia Sedia, 
Carlo Marratti's Nativity, Jephtha's rash vow, from 
Opie, and David with his sling, from Carlo Dolci, are 
among them ; together with Gainsborough's Shepherd 
Boy, Morland's Farmer's Stable, Barker's Woodman, 
Westal's Gleaner, Ruysdael's Waterfall, and many 
others. The Judgment upon Cain is one of the largest 
pieces : " When thou tillest the ground, it shall not 
henceforth yield unto thee her strength ; a fugitive and 
a vagabond shah thou be in the earth. And Cain said 
15 



170 dubqurg's mechanical theatre. 

unto the Lord, My punishment is greater than 1 can 
bear." Gen. iv. 12, 13. 

I am now in the " Saloon of Arts," or Dubourg's 
Mechanical Theatre ; and not being an admirer of wax- 
work generally, the first glance of the place excites 
within me but little emotion. The different groups of 
figures caged up in their several compartments have a 
somewhat forbidding appearance, nor is this much re- 
lieved when motion is communicated to a part of them. 

I hold it desirable to look on the bright side of every 
exhibition we see, and to point out its advantages rather 
than its defects. We may take a good-natured as well 
as an ill-natured glance at the world and the things it 
contains ; and when we have a choice between a rose 
and a thistle, it is certainly the wiser course to choose 
the former. There is, however, something due to our- 
selves in describing a scene, and something also to 
those to whom we undertake to give information. Our 
kindly feelings should not falsify our real convictions. 
What we say should be truth, if not the whole truth ; 
and to praise what our judgment condemns is not con- 
sistent with integrity. 

Many of the groups are likely enough to afford 
pleasure to a fair proportion of visitors, and I doubt 
not that hundreds will gaze on Androclcs and the lion 
with great admiration , and leave the place fully satis- 
fied that what the catalogue says about the noble beast 
raising his paw, turning his head, opening his mouth, 
lashing his sides with his tail, rolling his eyes, and 
groaning as in the greatest agony, while the slave 
wipes the blood from his wound with his pocket-hand- 
kerchief, " proves the group to be a master-piece of me- 



dubourg's mechanical theatre. 171 

chanism and art." But for all this we must not close 
our eyes to its defects. I will not quarrel with Andro- 
cles for being, as a slave, so well dressed and so fully- 
armed, nor complain that he has in his possession so 
excellent a white pocket-handkerchief Let him dress 
and arm himself as he likes, and wear the best pocket- 
handkerchief he can honestly procure ; but what I 
demur at is this, though he pretends to wipe the lion's 
wounded paw, he never once touches it with his hand- 
kerchief The lion roars, and well he may. Were I a 
lion I would roar myself at such hollow heartedness. 

The group of some ten of the greatest assassins and 
murderers that have entered Newgate prison for some 
years, seems to receive a large amount of public atten- 
tion. Curiosity rushes on, and wonder gazes with open 
mouth and wide-extended eyes. Willingly would I 
just now look on a more pleasant sight than on the 
likeness of those who have defaced their Maker's image 
in ruthlessly destroying their fellow men. 

There must be much of ingenuity in that mechanisnx 
which can give motion to the arms, heads, and eyes of 
figures so variously disposed as these before me ; but a 
truce to my remarks, for something important is about 
to transpire. 

The little man with the great spear, who " shows 
off" the exhibition, has explained to us all the several 
groups ; of Judith and Holofernes ; the conference be- 
tween" the British officers and Chinese authorities ; the 
tomb of Napoleon ; the slave-market at Constantinople ; 
Coriolanus on the walls of Rome, and the rest. And 
we have all, in obedience to his request, paid especial 
attention to the opening and shutting of the eyes and 
mouth, and the moving of the heads and arms, of the 



172 dubourg's mechanical theatre. 

several figures. He has now produced a sensation, by 
stamping his spear heavily on the floor to arrest our 
attention, and announced that the car is about to move 
in rapid career along the centrifugal railway. 

It is done. First a pail of water, next a hundred 
weight, and lastly, a human being, one of the attendants, 
have in succession passed down the inclined plane, 
round the circle in the centre, and afterwards ascended 
the opposite steep. The water was unspilt, the weight 
unmoved, and the attendant uninjured, though he passed 
round the upright circle head over heels, performing a 
complete summerset, at the rate, as the little man tells 
us, of a hundred miles an hour. 

After all, this is an astonishing spectacle ; nor could 
I have believed, without witnessing the fact, that the 
human brain could have borne such a sudden rush and 
rapid whirl without being overcome with giddiness. 
The company are invited to perform the feat. Think 
of Old Humphrey kicking up his heels in this way ! 
No, no ; it will not do. Many will have it that the 
world is turned upside down as it is, we need not there- 
fore, push ourselves forward to confirm this opinion, 
# * # # * 

The exhibition of Madame Tassaud is certainly the 
best collection of wax-work ever seen in London, and 
the best time to see it is at night, when the room is well 
lighted up, and the music of the orchestra gives addi- 
tional liveliness to the scene. I have exchanged a few 
words with Madame, who is industriously plying her 
needle in the lobby ; and now seated, as I am, on one 
of the crimson benches, the whole • exhibition is before 
me. 

This scene is very arresting, for the room is large 



17S 

and lofty, and splendidly decorated with crimson and 
gold. The fluted pillars, the ornamented pedestals, the 
imposing groups of figures, the rich dresses and the 
mirrors which so largely amplify the extent of the ex- 
hibition, all have an influence over the mind of the 
spectator. The chamber has an appearance of life, and 
he who could seat himself among these mimic resem- 
blances of humanity, and feel himself alone, must have 
a strange imagination. That figure to the right there, 

"Would you not dream it breathed, and that those veins 
Did verily bear blood 1" 

And that yonder to the left, 

"The very life seems vrarm upon her lip, 
The fixture of her eye has motion in 't." 

Here are emperors, kings, princes, nobles, statesmen, 
and warriors, costumed in agreement with the times in 
which they lived. Dignitaries of the church, poets, 
artists, and actors, bringing before us things that are 
not, even as though they were. Among the monarchs 
are the Charleses, the Henries, Elizabeth, the Georges, 
and Victoria of England. Mary Glueen of Scots, Hen- 
ry IV., Francis, Louis XVI., Napoleon Buonaparte, 
and Louis Philippe of France, Charles of Sweden, 
Alexander of Russia, and Frederick of Prussia. How 
often do the sceptre-wielders of the world require to be 
reminded 

That vain and feeble are the things 

That mortals make their trust ; 
That mightest monarchs are but men. 

And crowns but glittering dust ! 

It would be a lengthy task to note do\vn the names 
of all here who " have figured away in their several 
characters on the world's wide stage." I will, there- 
15* 



174 MADAME TUSSAUDS WAX-WORK. 

fore, pass by the living, and enumerate a few only of 
the memorable dead. Here are to be seen Oliver 
Cromwell, Cardinal Wolsey, Joan of Arc, Knox, Cal- 
vin, Luther, and John Wesley, v/ith Pitt and Fox, Vol- 
taire, Baron Svvedenborg, Shakspeare, Byron, Walter 
Scott, Talleyrand, and Paganini. 

After walking- round the room, I have stood motion- 
less for a few moments, and more than one visitor has 
regarded me as an effigy. The figure of Madame 
Tassaud in the exhibition used to be frequently mistaken 
for Madame herself; but revolving years, which have 
scarcely affected the figure, have not fled without leav- 
ing their impress on its owner. 

Such as are fond of the terrible, may do as I have 
'ust done, they may visit the separate room where, in 
addition to the casts of the faces of Burke, Stewart and 
his wife, Greenacre, Courvoisier, Gould, Collins, Good, 
Francis, John Ward, and Fieschi, all of infamous 
memory, they may behold the fearful features of the 
butchers — the term is scarcely too strong for them — 
of the French revolution, Marat, Mirabeau, Robespierre, 
Carrier, Tuiville, and Hebert, with Rava iliac, the as- 
sassin of Henry iv. of France. 

What a variety of character does this exhibition pre- 
sent for the mind to muse upon ! The pageantry of 
princes, and the policy of statesmen, may here be calmly 
reviewed, with the influential acts of those who have 
called forth the applause, or deserved the execration of 
mankind. The beauty of Mary dueen of Scots, how 
useless ! the ambition of Buonaparte, how vain ! the 
bitter infidelity of Voltaire, how weak and wicked ! and 
the dark deeds of those who have ruthlessly shed hu- 
man blood, how diabolical and execrable ! From these 



MODEL OF ST. PETER's AT ROME. 175 

reflections on others, it will be well to come back to 
some reflections on ourselves, for how soon shall we be 
numbered with those who are mouldering in the 
grave ! 

"The busy tribes of flesh and blood, 
With all their cares and fears, 
Are carried downward by the flood, 
And lost in following years, 

*' Time, like an ever-rolling stream, 
Bears all its sons away ; 
They fly forgotten, as a dream 
Dies at the opening day. 

*' O God ! our help in ages past. 
Our hope for years to come ; 
Be thou our guard while life shall last 
And our perpetual home." 



MODEL OF ST. PETER's AT ROME. 

I. have visited this place with the hope of seeing an 
exhibition here, which I now find has been for some 
time removed. These little disappointments are not 
without their advantages, they prepare, or at least ought 
to do so, our tempers for greater trials. 

But though the exhibition I came to see is not here, 
there is another well worth my attention. On arriv- 
ing at the door of the room at the top of the staircase, a 
foreigner Avith a cap on his head addressed me in Italian, 
a language of which I know but little more than I do 
of Arabic ; a second foreigner then came forward, and 
at last a third, all with caps on their heads, and all 
speaking Italian. At last I found out that one or two 
of them spoke French, and being just enabled to carry on 
a conversation in that language, we have proceeded with 
very little difiiculty. I have been -^ormely introduced to 



176 MODEL OF ST. PETER S AT ROME. 

Signor Andrea Gambassini, the talented and persever- 
ing artist whose wonder-working hands executed the 
splendid model before me, and am now the only visitor 
present examining, with curious admiration, the goodly 
pile. 

The model of St. Peter's, reduced to a hundredth 
part of the size of the real building, is beautifully exe- 
cuted in Indian oriental wood and ivory. The white 
marble figures and architecture of the original edifice 
are well imitated on ivory in the model, while the dif- 
ferent-coloured marbles are represented by wood of va- 
rious kinds. Colonnades, obelisks, porticoes and pil- 
lars, domes, roofs, pavements, pediments, statues, and 
painted windows, are all copied with the greatest care : 
and as the model is made to open, the internal as well 
as external part of the cathedral is exposed to the spec- 
tator. 

Signor Andrea Gambassini appears very well pleased 
with my admiration of his workmanship, and with the 
compliment that I have just ventured to pay him. The 
undertaking of the model was a bold one, and the exe- 
cution of it is such as to entitle him to deserved praise. 
Like me, the Signor has some years graven on his 
brows, and it behoves us both to be looking forward to 
a fairer edifice than this is, even to a "building of God, 
a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens, ' 
2 Cor. V. 1. 

Amid all the goodly glory of St. Peter's, I cannot but 
remember that it is one of the strong holds of Popery — 
a temple wherein the mummeries of the Romish reli- 
gion are practised with a high hand. Would that a 
purer faith and simpler religious ceremonies prevailed 
within its decorated walls, and that the Lord of life were 



MODEL OF ST. PETER's AT ROME. 177 

there worshipped in simplicity and truth, for " thine, O 
Lord, is the greatness, and the power, and the glory, 
and the victory, and the majesty : for all that is in the 
heaven and in the earth is thine ; thine is the kingdom, 

Lord, and thou art exalted as head above all," 

1 Chron. xxix. 11. 

I have admired, by turns, the grand colonnade, by 
Bernini, of two hundred statues, and two hundred and 
eighty-four pillars, the portico entrances, the statues of 
St. Peter, St. Paul, the apostles, and the Saviour, the 
grand vestibule, the marble pavement, the chapels, the 
great altar, and the grand cupola, with a vast variety of 
other interesting details, and the shades of evening are 
now beginning to prevail. When will the worshippers 
of St. Peter's, worship God in simplicity and truth ! 



SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 

What a bounteous banquet of costly viands is spread 
before an ardent-minded, grateful-spirited perambulator ! 
Not more certain is the bee to find honey in the cup of 
every flower, than he to find interest in every object 
which engages his attention. The goodly earth on which 
he treads, and the glorious canopy of the skies above 
his head, are kaleidoscopes, of ever-changing beauty 
and delight. 

What a wide spread page is London for him to gaze 
upon ! and how full of absorbing interest and instruc- 
tion ! Human life is there depicted : its glare and its 



178 SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 

gloom, its sunshiny joys, and its shadowy griefs A 
word on shops and shop windows. 

Here is a grocer's shop, but the profusion, the abso- 
lute prodigality of the scene oppresses me. There 
seems enough of grocery in the window to supply the 
neighbourhood. The fresh, fragrant, and delectable teas 
in the finely-formed wooden bowls are enticing ; to say 
nothing of the ample chests, lined with lead, and orna- 
mented by Chinese artists, whose contempt of perspec- 
tive is so well known. How significantly the manda- 
rins bow their heads, and beckon with their hands! 
what beautifully painted canisters ! what stores of coffee, 
chocolate, and cocoa ! what boxes of figs, and loaves 
of refined sugar ! 

And the raisins and currants, the spices and the can- 
died lemon-peel ! Oh, how the Christmas times of my 
youth burst upon me at the very sight of them ! 

Days of my youth, the long pass'd years 

Of childhood round me rise; 
I see them glistening through the tears 

That start into my eyes. 

The joys that round my bosom press'd 

Wheu thoughtless, young, and wild, 
Come, like a sunbeam, o'er my breast — 

Again I am a child. 

Well do I remember (who does not remember ?) the 
scenes of far-famed Christmas in days gone by. A 
dozen of us, light-hearted, laughter-loving, giggling 
boy^ and girls are seated at a supper table whence the 
older guests have just retired. Roast beef, and turkey, 
and cold fowls, and ham, and tarts, and custards, and 
jellies are before us ; with mince pies in abundance. 
We are roving like bees from one sweet to another. 
Present, past, and future, all is happiness. Turn the 



SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 179 

trencher and blind-man's buff are in prospect, and 
mulled elder wine and toast, before we break up for the 
night. 

But shall I be wiser, and tell you where the commo- 
dities in the grocer's shop and window come from? 
Oh yes ; for if you do not know, it will be useful infor- 
nriation ; and if you do, others may not possess this ad- 
vantage. With all the amusement we can gather, there 
is no going through the world in a creditable manner 
without a little knowledge. , 

Raisins are brought from Spain and Turkey ; cur- 
rants from the isles of the Archipelago ; lemons grow- 
in Portugal, Spain, and Italy ; and spices as well as 
sugar, are the produce of the East and West Indies. 

The latter article is brought to England in hogsheads^. 
See! there are two empty ones standing at the door, 
with a swarm of flies and a crowd of boys round them. 
One youngster is picking the sugar from the bung-hole ; 
another is reaching up to the top, where the rough hoop 
and rusty nails are likely enough to tear his ragged 
jacket ; and a third has his head and body in the cask, 
with his legs in the air, like a duck getting up some- 
thing from the bottom of a shallow pond. There they 
are, all licking their sugary fingers, and smiling. 

A friend of mine, who is a dear lover of cheerful- 
ness, once gave me this advice : " Whenever you get 
into a corner among a set of people unreasonably silent, 
afraid to speak, or even to smile, say to them at once, 
' What a hubbub a score of kankaroos would kick up 
in a plantation of dry sugar canes !' and if that obser- 
vation does not provoke a little merriment, you may 
give them up as perfectly incorrigible." 



180 SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 

I never see a sugar cask at a grocer's door, without 
thinkino- of the kangaroos and the sug-ar canes. 

I might say a great deal about the poor negroes, who 
have so much to do with sugar ; — 

"Thus saith Britannia, empress of the sea, 
Thy chains are broken, Africa, be free !" 

Though the chains of slavery are ordered to be 
broken, myriads are still bound by the fetters of igno- 
rance. The mighty cry of outraged humanity has as- 
cended to the throne of Heaven on their account ; and 
He who sitteth there will not hold him guiltless who 
withholds the debt of retribution and mercy that is due 
for the past. If we have deeply injured negroes in 
this world, let us ardently help them on their way to a 
better. 

Tea is too important an article to be passed by with- 
out a remark. You know, as well as I do, that the tea 
plant grows principally in China and Japan ; but you 
may not know the following particulars : 

The order of the East India Company, to their agent 
m Bantam, in 1668, was to send home lOOlbs. weight 
of " goode tey" as a speculation. A very pretty spe- 
culation this turned out to be ; for the yearly consump- 
tion of tea has been raised in the United Kingdom, b)'- 
the East India Company, from lOOlbs. as above, to nearly 
32,000,000. It seems almost incredible, and yet it is 
not to be disputed, that during eighteen years the im- 
mense sum of 70,000,000/. was paid into the British 
exchequer as revenue collected on the tea leaf 

Tea has produced to England a commerce amount- 
ing to upwards of 8,000,000/. sterling, that is, in im- 
ports and exports; and has yidded an annual revenue 



SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 181 

lo the British exchequer of 3,300,000/. It has a!«o pro- 
moted the heakh and morals of the people. 

Pekoe is the leaf buds, picked early in the spring, 
sometimes mixed with olive flower for fragrance ; hence 
the term " white blossom tea." I hardly think that you 
were aware of this. 

Congo. Souchong, and Bohea, take their names from 
the districts where they grow, or the mode in which 
they are prepared. Green tea differs from black by 
being dried in iron pots over the fire, while black is 
dried in the open air under a shade, and afterwards m a 
heated warehouse. Black tea improves by keeping, 
but this is not the case with green. The Chinese pre- 
fer black tea, ten or fifteen years old, if it has been kept 
from the atmosphere. 

We are purblind beings at the best, and cannot fathom 
His almighty counsels, v/hose " ways are not as our 
ways." The tea trade, which we only regard as a 
source of luxury and temporal profit, may one day, by 
the Divine permission and blessing, be a battering-ram 
to knock down the wall of China, a key to unlock the 
hearts of the Chinese, and a channel through which a 
flood of gospel light may flow, to illumine the three 
hundred millions of pagans which the " celestial em- 
pire" contains. 

"Waft, waft, ye winds, Ilis story, 

Ami you, ye waters, roll, 
'Till, like a sea of glory, 

It spreads from pole to jxile : 
'Till o'er our ransomed nature 

The Lamb, for sinners slain, 
Redeemer, King, Creator, 

In bliss returns to reign." 

What have we here ? An oil and colour shop, 
where they seem to sell many things : oils, vinegar, 
16 



182 SllOrS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 

mustard, salt, and soap ; honey, bees' wax, and emery ; 
black-lead, glue, sponge, and packthread ; brushes, 
brooms, blacking, door-mats, tobacco, snufT, pipes, and 
candles. 

About five hundred years ago, candles were so great 
a luxury that splinters of wood, dipped in oil or grease, 
were used for lights. Why the thought of reading and 
writing by the light of a greasy piece of wood is enough 
to make one look on a candle with gratitude, to snuff it 
with double care, and to regard it as a friend. 

Tobacco is cultivated in America, the West Indies, 
and other places. It was first introduced into Europe 
by Jean Nicot of Nismes, agent from the king of France 
to Portugal, who procured the seeds from a Dutchman, 
and sent them to France. It is smoked as cigars, and 
in pipes ; and is chewed by thousands of soldiers, sailors, 
and other people. Common smoking pipes are made 
of a soft white clay ; they are formed in a mould, the 
hole in the tube is made with a wire, and then they are 
burnt in an oven. 

Do you see the oils and colours, the reds and the 
blues, the greens and the yellows ? West, when he be- 
gan to paint, pulled hairs from a cat's tail to make him 
a pencil : but painting brushes are plentiful here. Here 
are materials for a new school of painters, an absolute 
academy of Hogarths, Rembrandts, Rafaelles, and 
Guidos ; Titians, Teniers, Poussins, and Paul Potters. 
When you next look at a real Vandyck, a Godfrey 
Kneller, a Murillo, or a Carlo Dolce, you may think 
more highly of an oil and colour shop. 

How eloquent might I be about industry, as I look 
at the bees' wax and the honey-pot ; about the British 
navy, while I gaze on the pitch and the tar-tub j and 



SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 183 

what strange things in music does that lump of rosin 
bring to my remembrance ! Even now Paganini is be- 
fore me. 

I could brighten up in my remarks at the very sight 
of the ball of lamp-cotton, while the spermaceti puts me 
at once on board a whaler, bound to the icebergs of the 
northern ocean. 

Now I shall have a treat, for this is the shop of a 
mercer, and linen and woollen draper. What a mag- 
nificent window ! It makes me afraid to look in, lest 
some one should jostle me against the splendid panes of 
plate glass. They are of unusual dimensions. How 
tastefully are the goods arranged ! A Cashmerian need 
not be ashamed of these shawls ! A Persian might be 
proud of those silks ! How the muslins and prints wave, 
like streamers, in the doorway ! And then, look at the 
huge rolls of superfine broad cloth, that remind one of 
an English squire of the olden time, Avith his good old 
dai..e beside him ; 

"He in English true blue, button'd up to the chin, 
And she in her broad farthingale." 

What a fine mirror is that at the end, yonder, dou- 
bling the shop's length to the eye, and multiplying the 
gas-lights in the evening! With what complaisance 
and courtesy the well-dressed shopmen attend to their 
customers ! How cleverly that youth cleared the coun- 
ter, by placing his hand upon it and springing over ! 
Do you observe the lady on the right, seated, carelessly 
examining the different articles before her ? that is the 
twentieth piece of silk the shopman has shown her, yet 
he is still active and obliging, although she has at pre- 
sent purchased nothing. 

See here, I would not have passed these plaids and 



184 SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 

tartans for a crown. There are the tartans of the Fra- 
sers, and the M'Phersons, the Abercrombies, the M'Far- 
lans, the Camerons, and the duke of Montrose. The 
blue dark ground with broad bars of green I remember 
well, it is the tartan of the 42nd regiment ; it prates 
about the broad-sword. The red ground with large 
squares, crossed with black, is that of Rob Roy ; and 
the most lively of all, the small squares of red and green, 
barred with black, is the glowing tartan of the M' Duffs. 
I know not if these things affect you as they affect 
me ; but, as I look at the w^indow, these tartans serve 
me as a text. Try if you cannot mend the sorry ser- 
mons that I make from it. 

They breathe of other things to me, 

Of mountain air, and of liberty ; 

Of tower and tree by lightning riven ; 

The storm, and the warring wind of heaven. 

Of mossy cairn und cromlech grey, 

And madd'ning sounds of fend and fray , 

Of stern contention— hope forlorn — 

And banner rent, and tartan tcwn. 

The draper himself is attending some ladies who are 
m a carriage at the door. With what a bow he takes 
leave of them ! It seems to express the greatest hu- 
mility and attention. Surely the business with which 
they have charged him will be faithfully performed, if 
human energy can accomplish it. Other ladies have 
now come in, and he dismisses hie former customers 
from his thoughts, but not until he has spoken quickly 
to one of his shopmen, who notes down where certain 
parcels are to be sent. The man in the desk, at the 
end of the shop, is the cash-keeper. When money is 
received, it is taken to him : he is a check on all the 
shopmen and apprentices. 

There is something to be seen in these places ; but 



SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 185 

when you visit them, take not your wife and daughters 
with you, unless you have a full purse ; for a mercer's 
shop rivals even that of the milliner in attracting the 
attention of the ladies. What pains we take to decorate 
the poor, perishable body ! and how negligent are we 
of that imperishable guest within us which is to live for 
ever in weal or woe ! 

If the draper's shop possesses many attractions for 
the fair, the tailor's window is greeted with frequent 
glances of the manly eye. Let us first notice that 
large coloured engraving conspicuously placed to dis- 
play the fashions of the day. There are sketches of 
gentlemen riding on horseback, or walking with ladies ; 
or exchanging salutations with each other. How very 
well dressed, and yet how stiff and passionless ! Their 
faces have no more natural expression than the busts in 
a hairdresser's shop. That velvet waiscoat, or, as they 
now call it, '• vest," is fit for a monarch to wear, and 
yet the printer's apprentice over the way has his eye 
upon it ; in a week or two we shall see if he wears 
the same waiscoat that he does now. 

What heaps of figured silks ! what gorgeous pat- 
terns ! what vivid colours ! See, they have attracted 
the eye of the dashing young fellow passing by. He 
gazes, hums a tune, and goes on ; they are not exactly 
to his mind. The tailor himself is behind the counter ; 
his face is pale, and he looks unhealthy. In spite of 
his fashionable dress, he cannot conceal certain deform- 
ities of figure, a stoop in the shoulder, and a leg bent 
outward. These distortions have been occasioned by 
close application at the shop-board during his appren- 
ticeship ; he has long since left off work, although, oc- 
casionally, he will display his skill in cutting out a 
16* 



186 SHOPS AND SHOP V/INDOWS. 

coat, to convince his foreman that he has a master who 
knows the business as well as himself. 

How carefully he is examining his ledger ! to some 
a hateful volume. What long arrears are there ! He 
shuts it up ; his countenance seems to have acquired 
asperity by the perusal. How sharply he speaks to 
his shopman, who is carelessly folding up some pieces 
of broadcloth ! 

There is a confusion in the street ; a wild bullock is 
running along, driving the people before him. How 
quickly the tailor fistens his door ! he actually trem- 
bles ; his shopman, too, appears alarmed, while the 
butcher on the other side of the street is running out of 
his shop with a firm countenance : let us notice him, 
for he, too, is worthy of observation. 

Well may the butcher live opposite the tailor, for in 
character they are antipodes. 

The countenance of the man is jolly and rubicund, 
with a display of coarse wit and humour in the eye ; 
nothing like unhappiness is to be read there. The blue 
dress has been worn by the trade from time immemo- 
rial. I do not know why : one would think that red 
would be the more appropriate colour. 

Mark with what precision the strong armed man 
uses the cleaver. That stroke went through flesh and 
bone with a crash unpleasing to the ear. See how 
adroitly he shears off tiiat collop with his knife, hor- 
ridly keen, having just been hastily whetted on the 
steel at his side. His customer asked for a pound, and 
he has cut off exactly a pound and a quarter ; his knife 
errs inwrr.-dly by system. I dare say he could cut a 
pound within an ounce, if it suited him. 

His boy is scraping the bench with a ioiife, and 



SHOPS AND SHOP WINDOWS. 187 

cleaning it with a cloth and warm water. A dog has 
crept in, and is- making off with a piece of offal picked 
up under the bench ; he has not escaped the quick eye 
of the butcher ; the hungry brute has been kicked on 
the sides, and is running away, howling wi h affright 
and pain. Why is it that a butcher's shop is less or- 
namented than any other? Is it because the public 
would think it ridiculous to place plate glass and brass 
work before pieces of raw flesh 1 or is the butcher so 
proud of his meat that he thinks any decoration would 
hide a beauty? Perhaps the chief reason is, the neces- 
sity of having the shop well ventilated. 

With what pleasure that old gentleman seems to 
handle the sirloin there ! if it were part of a dead horse, 
or of any animal to which he was unaccustomed, he 
would start back with disgust. 

The lady with her servant bearing a basket, appears 
quite at home and at ease amongst the joints : but not 
so the poor woman in the old red cloak, bargaining for 
a piece of the coarsest meat ; care renders her uneasy, 
she is no chooser ; poverty and hunger are not nice ; she 
thinks only of the price, and is not particular about the 
quality. I know her well, a deserving creature, with a 
weakly frame, and a drunken husband. To her " that 
is afflicted pity should be showed." Shehasbutninepence; 
I saw her count it in her hand, though she well knew 
what it was before. The butcher is not hard with her. 
See how cheerfully he throws the piece down on the 
bench as he turns off to another customer, calling out, 
" Well, take it along with you. Missis." The poor wo- 
man IS going away with a brighter countenance. Suc- 
cess attend you, master butcher, and may you meet with 



188 SHOPS AJ^D SHOP WINDOWS. 

good orders from the rich to repay you for youi liber- 
ality to the poor ! 

Perhaps, for the present, I have said enough to con- 
vince you that shops and shop windows may be made a 
source of much amusement, and some instruction. You 
may look at the same windows again and again, with 
advantage ; for the articles and commodities exposed for 
sale are almost endless. I have merely ventured a few 
remarks on such of them as have struck me in a rapid 
glance ; you may turn them to a more profitable ac- 
count. 

What a busy world is this ! and how selfishly we 
spend our time ! Whether walking in town or country, 
where we meet with one rendering a kindness to another, 
ten are occupied in serving themselves: and on the 
average, notwithstanding the shortness of life, where two 
hundred are busily employed in the affairs of time, 
scarcely will two be found attending to the things of 
eternity. 

Let us put the questions honestly to ourselves : Liv- 
ing in this world, are we looking beyond it ? Do we 
know that this is not our rest? that heaven is the only 
cure for earthly troubles? and that, above all, Jesus 
Christ, who died to save sinners, is able to save unto the 
uttermost all them that come unto God by him. 

'Time tf>as, is past ; thou canst not it recal : 
Time is, thou hast: employ the portion small: 
Time/;^'M7e is not ; and may never be : 
Time presfnt is the only time for tiie«." 



THE PARKS. 189 



THE PARKS. 

Had I a park of a thousaad acres, well wooded with 
spreading- oaks and towering elms, well watered with 
crystal lakes, and well stocked with fleet red deer, how 
gladly would I open my gates, and widen my pathways, 
that others might share in my gratifications ! And had 
I a goodly mansion in the midst, with noble halls and 
suites of apartments, and ten thousand a year to spend, 
how hospitably would I entertain those who are less 
abundantly provided for than myself! My dainty mor- 
sels should not be eaten alone ; I would open my doors 
to the traveller. 

By this time the reader will be quite satisfied that I 
neither have an extended park, a goodly mansion, and 
ten thousand a year, nor any very clear prospect of sud- 
denly coming into possession of the same. Such a 
burst of disinterestedness and generosity, as that in 
which I have just indulged, is perfectly natural in my 
present sphere; and very likely (such is man!) the 
readiest way to cure me of such impulsive opcnhearted- 
ness, would be to give me the means of embodying my 
imaginary benevolence. There is a something in the 
very nature of riciies that prompts the owner of them to 
increase, rather than to diminish his possessions: so that, 
often in the same degree in which we have power to as- 
sist others, we have only the inclination to serve our- 
selves. Instances, many instances, occur to the con- 
trary ; but they are the exceptions to the general rule. 

" Lord, make us tnily wise, 
To choose thy people's lot, 
And earthly joys despise, 
Which soon will be forgot: 



190 THE PARKS. 

The greatest evil we can fear, 
Is to possess our portion here !" 

While thus indulging my reflections, I am seated on 
one of the benches in St. James's Park, opposite the 
lake; the proud palace of Buckingham is on my right: 
the goodly towers of the abbey of Westminster on my 
left ; with a promenade, in the fore-ground, of well 
dressed people, and beyond it the clear, sunlit, wind- 
ruffled water, on which aquatic fowls of different kinds 
are sporting joyously. I have, before now, when seat- 
ed here, under favourable circumstances, thought that 
few scenes in the world, of a limited extent, could be 
finer than this ; and feelings of a similar kind are ex- 
ercising an influence over me now. 

The parks, as breathing places to the inhabitants, are. 
indeed, important appendages to the metropolis. Here 
the sovereign and her subjects find healthy exercise and 
agreeable recreation. St. James's Park is used more 
for promenading than for riding or driving, though the 
carriage communication between Buckingham palace 
and that of St. James's is very frequent. 

In the reign of Henry viii., the park was nothing 
more than a desolate marsh. It was enlarged and 
planted with lime trees by Charles ii., who contracted 
the water into a canal, and formed, likewise, a decoy 
and other ponds for water fowl. In one part of the 
park there once was a hollow smooth walk, enclosed 
with a border of wood on each side, and ended at one 
extremity by a hoop of iron. Here a certain game at 
ball was much played, and it was from this that the 
place afterwards took the name of " mall." 

Between a hundred and fifty and two hundred years 
ago. king Charles ii. might have been seen m that part 



THE PARKS. 191 

of the park called Bird-cage walk, playing with his 
spardels, and other dogs, feeding his ducks, and talking 
in a familiar manner with his subjects. He had an 
aviary near the place. The more swampy part of the 
park was then called Duck Island. 

Never, perhaps, did St. James's Park present so 
splendid an appearance as on the coronation of queen 
Victoria. The queen with her attendants, the royal 
carriages, the embassadors vying with each other in the 
magnificence of their carriages and equipages ; the field 
marshals and general officers in full uniform with their 
troops ; the military bands, the flags and streamers ; and 
the innumerable multitudes assembled, formed a spec- 
tacle inconceivably imposing. 

Just before the queen made her appearance in her state 
carriage, a heron rose up from the lake, winged its way 
far above the assembled throng, and sailed majestically 
round and round over the palace walls. As I gazed 
on the noble bird, which had attracted the attention of 
tens of thousands, I thought to myself, " In olden times 
great importance was attached, on particular occasions, 
to the flight of birds. Now, if that heron should alight 
for a moment on the pediment of the palace, or on the 
flag-stafl' bearing the standard, it would be regarded as 
an omen for good, and the event would be handed down 
to posterity." 

The Green Park is, perhaps, less frequented than any 
other. A walk along the carriage road, by the side of 
it, has brought me to the triumphal arches, for such they 
are frequently called, at Hyde Park-corner. Apsley- 
house, the mansion of the duke of Wellington, with its 
iron gates and barred windows, stands like a fortress at 
the sntrance of Hyde Park ; but I must relate an anec- 



192 THE PARKS. 

dote of Apsley-house, that some time ago appeared in the 
London journals. 

It is said that as George ii. was riding on horseback, 
one day, in Hyde Park, he met an old soldier, who had 
fought with him in the battle of Dettingen ; with this 
soldier he entered into free discourse. 

After talking together for some time, the king asked 
the veteran what he could do for him ? " Why, please 
your majesty," said the soldier, " my wife keeps an ap- 
ple stall on the bit of waste ground as you enter the 
park, and if your majesty would be pleased to make us 
a grant of it, we might build a little shed and improve 
our trade." 

The request, a very moderate one, was at once grant- 
ed. In a little time the old apple-woman prospered 
greatly ; for the shed was built, and her business sur- 
prisingly increased. The situation was a good one for 
the purpose, and she carried on a very profitable trade. 

In the course of years, the old soldier died, and the 
lord chancellor, who was looking around him, at the 
time, for a suitable piece of ground where he might 
build himself a mansion, fixed his mind on this very 
spot. The old woman was sadly alarmed when she 
saw her poor shed pulled down, and preparations made 
to build up a great house where it stood ; and away she 
went to a son, an attorney's clerk, to consult with him 
as to what course she ought to take. The son was 
shrewd enough to see, at once, the advantage that might 
be gained by remaining quiet in the matter ; so he ad- 
vised his mother to say nothing until the great mansion 
should be completed. No sooner was the house fin- 
ished, than the son waited on the lord chancellor to 
complain of the trespass committed on his mother's 



THE PARKS. 193 

property, and to claim a recompence for the injury that 
had been sustained. 

When the chancellor saw that the claim was undeni- 
able, he directly offered a few hundred pounds by way 
of compensation ; but this was altogether refused ; the 
old woman, advised by her son, would by no means 
settle the affair on such easy terms. After some delib- 
eration, a ground rent of four hundred pounds a year 
was demanded, and his lordship, at last, agreed to the 
terms. It is added, that to this very day Apsley-house 
yields a ground rent of four hundred pounds yearly to 
the descendants of the old apple-woman. 

The bronze figure of Achilles, on the granite pedes- 
tal, Avhich meets the eye on entering the archway into 
the park, was erected in honour of the duke of Wel- 
lington. It is considered a fine specimen of art, and is 
very generally admired. 

Of all the royal parks, no one is so extensive as Hyde 
Park, nor can such an assemblage of carriages and fine 
horses be seen in any other place in the whole world, 
as are here daily witnessed during the summer months ; 
to a stranger they appear absolutely numberless, and 
the wonder rises in the mind, that there should be rich 
people enough to keep so many costly equipages. 

Two hundred years back, Hyde Park contained as 
many as eighteen hundred acres ; but now it has not 
quite four hundred, Kensington Gardens being separat- 
ed from it. The Serpentine River, as it is called, which 
adorns the place, is as straight as if drawn with a rule 
and compasses : great is the number of persons who 
have therein met with a v^atcry grave. There will al- 
ways be found, among bathers and skaters, many of a 
daring and others of an inconsiderate disposition, so 
17 



194 THE PARKS. 

that accidents are sure to take place. The Humane 
Society has a receiving house on the hank of the river, 
with every convenience for the restoration, if life be not 
extinct, of such sufferers as are taken there ; and men 
provided with life preservers, may always be seen 
walking by the sides of the river, to prevent, as far as 
possible, the loss of life. How few of the names of 
those who are in the habit of driving round Hyde Park 
in carriages, or promenading there daily, are to be 
found among the supporters of the Humane Society ! 

The cloistered abbots and canons of Westminster 
Abbey, who owned the park in the time of Henry viu, 
would hardly be able, could they revisit the place, to 
identify their old property. In the reign of Charles i, 
Hyde Park, with its then capital stock of timber trees 
and deer, was sold by the parliament for little more 
than seventeen thousand pounds. In the reign of 
Charles ir, it was again resumed by the crown. 

I have walked westward, and here is quite another 
scene ! I have spread my handkerchief on the summit 
of the low wall of Kensington Gardens, and am sitting 
thereon at my ease. The band, from the neighbouring 
barrack, is playing most admirably, while a goodly 
group of two or three thousand people is assembled 
around. Rank, fashion, and beauty in every direction 
meet the eye, and the " concord of sweet sounds " and 
the stormy clangour of martial music alternately regale 
the ear. 

On the opposite side of the wall, in Hyde Park, with 
only a dry ditch between us, are ranged in rows, ladies 
on noble palfreys, and gentlemen mounted on fiery, yet 
tractable steeds, that snort and paw the ground. The 
trees are in their freshest verdure, the sun is in the sky ; 



THE PARKS. 195 

gay dresses, sparkling eyes, smiling faces, and happy 
hearts abound. And yet, happy as they now may be, 
perhaps — perhaps what? Will it become me, in a mo- 
ment like this, to encourage shadowy thoughts ? to cast 
a gloom where all around is sunshine ? No ! There 
is a time to be merry, as well as to be sad. Happiness 
is a costly thing, and where it is not purchased at the 
expense of others, when it is not indulged in by leaving 
duties unperformed, why, let it be enjoyed. Had I, at 
this moment, a sunnier glow at my disposal, than that 
which is now beaming in the bosoms around me, I 
would fling it at once into their hearts. Oh that all 
could be abidingly happy, and animated with the desire 
of making others happy also ! 

" How happy those whose hopes depend 
Upon the Lord alone ! 
For those that trust in such a friend, 
Can ne'er be overthrown." 

I have left the gardens of Kensington, and am again 
in Hyde Park, sitting on a bench under the spreading 
branches of an elm. Yesterday I w\as in Regent's Park. 
At present, the trees there are but young, but every year 
they are adding to the beauty of the walks and drives. 
The noble ranges of buildings around, the commodious 
drives, together with the neighbouring attractions of the 
Diorama, the Colosseum, and the Zoological Gardens, 
cannot fail to make the park popular. This noble elm, 
under which I am seated, reminds me of some of the 
glorious biblical descriptions that are given of trees. 
How striking is the description of that prophetic tree, 
given in the fourth chapter of Daniel. " I saw, and be- 
hold a tree in the midst of the earth, and the height there- 
of was great. The tree grew, and was strong, and the 
height thereof reached unto heaven, and the sight thereof 



196 THE PARKS. 

to the end of all the earth: the leaves thereof were fair, and 
the fruit thereof much, and in it was meat for all : the 
beasts of the field had shadow under it, and the fowls of 
the heaven dwelt in the boughs thereof, and all flesh 
was fed of it. I saw in the -.'isions of my head upon my 
bed, and, behold, a watcher and an holy one came down 
from heaven ; he cried aloud, and said thus, Hew dovv-n 
the tree, and cut off his branches, shake off his leaves, 
and scatter his fruit." 

The parks, as I have already observed, as breathing 
places to the inhabitants, are indeed important appen- 
dages to the metropolis ; but it must be admitted, that 
in a city park, even under the most favourable circum- 
stances, there is a want of that privacy and seclusion, 
which constitute one of the great charms of rural scenery. 
Here, in Hyde Park, you have ample space, goodly 
trees, resting places, pure air, and an unbroken view of 
the glorious canopy of the skies ; but you are either in 
a throng, or within the view of others continually, and 
solitude and abstraction cannot be enjoyed, as it may be 
in country places. 

Give me the mountain and the wide-spread moor, 
Where freely blows the breath of heaven around; 
The hill, the valC; where singing birds allure, 
And meadows sweet where buttercups abound. 

A buoyant spirit and a grateful heart, however, will 
make even the desert to blossom as the rose, so that the 
parks of London are not likely to be undervalued. 



THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 

With the exception of St. Paul's Cathedral, perhaps 
no public building in London is more generally visited 



THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 197 

than the British Museum ; and it might be difficult to 
find a place that has been more frequently described. 
It possesses two very great attractions : one, that it has 
much within it deserving attention ; the other, that it 
may be seen for nothing. 

As viewed from the spot where I am now standing, 
it has little in appearance to recommend it. Neither its 
guarded gateways, its square turrets, its front of dirty 
red brick, nor its old crazy cupola, is of an alluring 
character. Even in the short time it has occupied me 
to note down this remark, twenty-three persons have 
passed by the two sentinels who are on duty, with their 
bayonets fixed at the end of their muskets ; and now a 
carriage has driven up to the gate. It is time for me to 
trudge across the street, and to enter the place myself 

Ay ! this spacious quadrangle gives a different aspect 
to the building, and the fine flight of steps adds much to 
its general appearance. The French architect, Peter 
Puget, who designed the edifice, now rises in the esti- 
mation of the spectator. But the sarcophagus, covered 
with hieroglyphics, near the gateway, and the ancient 
canoe, formed apparently from a large tree, hollowed 
out by the chisel or by fire, draw the visitors aside, and 
claim for a season their attention. 

At the foot of the flight of steps, surrounded by a 
slight enclosure, the gigantic head bones of two enor- 
mous creatures arrest the eye of the spectator. They 
are of a most astonishing size and form ; and a strano-er, 
until he reads the inscription beside them, wonders to 
what kind of animal they could belong. I have some- 
thing to say on this subject, which is a little curious. 

A few years ago, on passing over London Bridge, 
my attention was attracted by half a dozen bright yellow 
17* 



198 THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 

placard papers, pasted against a wall near the bridge. 
On these papers was printed the following wonderful 
announcement • " Wonderful Remains of an Enormous 
Head, eighteen feet in length, seven feet in breadth, and 
weighing seventeen hundred pounds. The complete 
bones of which were discovered, in excavating a passage 
for the purpose of a railway, at the depth of seventy-five 
feet from the surface of the ground, in Louisiana, and al 
a distance of one hundred and sixty miles from the sea. 
This great curiosity to be seen from ten in the morning 
till six in the evening." 

In a very short time, I directed my hasty steps to the 
Cosmorama, in Regent street, where the enormous 
head was to be seen. There I gazed on the prodigy, 
and much did it excite my wonder. The proprietors 
were Frenchmen, and many were the dreams of ima- 
gination in which they indulged. It was thought the 
head might have belonged to a bird, for the beak-like 
formation of the projecting bones gave some colour to 
such a possibility ; but then, had such a monster lived, 
kite-like, on other birds, he would speedily have depop- 
ulated a space equal to a whole parish, ay, a whole 
county, of its feathered tribes. It was suggested by one 
that it might have belonged to a fish ; but the circum- 
stance of it being found so deep in the earth, and so far 
from the sea, threw a difficulty in the way of this sug- 
gestion. It was intimated by another as no improba- 
bility, that it belonged to a reptile, a gigantic lizard ; 
and to such a creature, supposing that he sustained 
himself by vegetation, shrubs and bushes must have 
been as grass, and young oaks and elm.s as a pleasant 
sort of asparagus. In short, from the conversation I 
had with these foreigners, it was clear that in their ap- 



THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 199 

prehension the eagle might be but a lark, the whale but 
a minnow, and the mammoth but a mite, compared to 
the creatures that once inhabited the air, the ocean, and 
the earth, in the ages that have long winged their way 
to eternity. 

We J ! I lost sight altogether of this " Enormous 
Head' for some yea I'S, and did not expect to see the 
like again, until one day, visiting this place, I saw the 
two heads now before me, one that of the spermaceti 
whale, [Physeter macroccpkalus^) the other the skull 
and lower jaw of the northern whalebone whale, [Bar 
Icena mysticetus.) 

The strong resemblance of the latter convinced me 
that the " Enormous head" was nothing more than the 
head of a whale. 

I have entered my name in the book, kept in the hall 
for the purpose of receiving the signatures of visitors ; 
given a glance at the gilded idol, and the mysterious 
impression made by his foot ; ascended the staircase ; 
paused a moment opposite the musk ox, polar bear, and 
gigantic fernsprays, and am now opposite the elephant 
and giraffes, sometimes regarding them with attention, 
and sometimes leanini^ my head backwards to admire 
'^ the painted ceiling, whereon the fall of Phaeton, and 
the synod of heathen gods, are beautifully painted. 

Youth, maturity, and age, all press forward to see 
the British Museum. There is a perfect throng now 
upon the staircase. Holiday and cheerfulness may be 
seen in almost every face. A pleasant sight it is to 
witness human happiness. 

Here is a room crowded with curiosities, once the 
property of savage tribes, living thousands of miles 
apart from each other! The Esquimaux, the New 



200 • THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 

Zealander, the Otaheitan, and the South Ameiican In- 
dian, have all contributed to the collection. Implements 
of labour, fishing tackle, warlike weapons, and instru- 
ments of music are ranged around. The spear, the 
javelin, the shark-tooth saw, the club, the tomahawk, 
and the scalping knife, are mingled with bows and ar- 
rows, canoes, sledges, fish-hooks, harpoons, and cala- 
bashes. Here is a screen made of the feathers of an 
eagle ; there, a dancing dress of the fibres of the cocoa- 
nut bark ; and yonder are ugly idols, bracelets of boars' 
tusks, mirrors of black slaty stone, necklaces of seeds 
and shells, and wooden coats of armour. 

Nor are the trophies of war forgotten ; the scalps 
of the vanquished in battle may here be seen, a species 
of spoil that is too dear to the cruel and implacable 
spirit of savage men. How opposed to the fierce hos- 
tility and relentless revenge of the untutored Indian, is 
the merciful injunction, " Love your enemies, bless 
them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, 
and pray for them which despitefully use you, and per- 
secute you," Matt, v, 44. And yet the time will come, 
for the mouth of the Holy One has declared it, when 
this Christian command shall run through the wigwam 
and through the world, when the javelin of the savage 
shall be broken, his bow be snapped in sunder, and his 
scalping knife be guiltless of his fellow's blood. 

''Then, in undisturb'd possession, 

Peace and righteousness shall reign ; 
Never shall be felt oppression, — 
Heard the voice of war again." 

In the centre of the room, in a glass case, lies the 
far-famed Magna Charta, wrung from a tyrannous 
monarch by the armed hands of his barons ; and many 
a prying eye pores over the time-worn document with 



THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 201 

curiosity and wonder. It takes us back to the days 
when king John, a treacherous and false-hearted king, 
made, as it were, the land " desolate because of the 
fierceness of the oppressor, and because of his fierce 
anger," Jer. xxv. 38. But his tyranny prevailed not. 
What a fine burst of language is that, in which the 
prophet Isaiah rebukes those who are fearful of the 
oppression of man, and yet forgetful of the goodness 
of God ! " Who art thou, that thou shouldcst be afraid 
of a man that shall die, and of the son of man which 
shall be made as grass ; and forgettest the Lord thy 
Maker, that hath stretched forth the heavens, and laid 
the foundations of the earth; and hast feared continu- 
ally every day because of the fury of the oppressor, as 
if he were ready to destroy? and where is the fury of 
the oppressor?^' Isaiah li. 12, 13. 

The painted ceilings, by Charles de la Foss, and the 
splendid groups of flowers, by James Rosseau, are ad- 
mirable productions. They remind me of the vivid pen- 
cillings of Le Brun, in the palace of Versailles. The 
more I look on them, the more I like them. 

To describe the animals, birds, reptiles, fishes, and 
insects, the shells, minerals, fossils, petrifactions and an- 
tiquities of this place, would be impossible ; for there is 
not one department that would not furnish amusement 
for a week. They are ail classed in a scientific man- 
ner ; the carnivorous animals are separated from those 
that arc granivorous ; and the birds of prey from the 
aquatic, and those that sing. From the diminutive hum- 
ming bird to the stately ostrich, the feathered creation 
may here be seen in all their varied forms and gaudy 
plumage. The kite in the glass case there, reminds me 
of an anecdote that has just been related to me. 



202 THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 

" A respectable farmer in Scotland, after a walk over 
his farm, at the beginning of this year's lambing sea- 
son, and on a very warm morning, fell asleep on a high 
hill. On awaking, he found that his broad blue bonnet, 
and a yellow silk, handkerchief, which he had placed 
beside him, were both missing. At first, he suspected 
they had been taken away in sport by some person on 
the farm ; but, on inquiry, every individual on the farm 
and in the neighbourhood, who could possibly have ap- 
proached the spot, denied all knowledge of the missing 
articles. Some weeks after, our correspondent and a 
party were ascending a very steep and dangerous rock 
on the farm, to destroy the nest of a glede, (kite.) Great 
was his amazement, when the first article taken out of 
the nest was the missing yellow silk handkerchief; then 
the broad blue bonnet, with three eggs most comfortably 
ensconced in it ; next appeared an old tartan waistcoat, 
with tobacco in one pocket, and Orr's Almanac for 1839 
in the other, the almanac having the words, scarcely 
legible, 'J. Fraser,' written upon it; then came a flan- 
nel nightcap, marked with red worsted, ' D. C. J. ;' a 
pair of old white mittens, a piece of a letter with green 
wax, and the Inverness post-mark, an old red and white 
cravat, and a miscellaneous assortment of remains of cot- 
ton, paper, and other things. This bird had, indeed, 
been a daring robber, and had carried on his extensive 
larcenies for a long time with impunity." 

Herculaneum and Pompeii have sent of their long- 
buried stores to add to the costliness of this extended 
treasure house. Greek and Roman antiquities are here, 
and numerous idols of metal, stone, and wood ; terra- 
cottas, scu-ptures, vases, jars, and urns ; with busts and 
figures, coins and medals, rings and curious seals. 



THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 203 

There are also beautiful specimens of precious stones^ 
of all the kinds that are known, so that almost every 
shade of disposition may find something that will add to 
its gratification. 

One of the most costly curiosities of the place, is the 
Portland Vase ; for two hundred years it was the prin- 
cipal ornament of a palace : it was found in the road be- 
tween Rome and Frascati. By far the greater number 
of visitors pass this by, as a thing of little value, yet 
thousands of pounds would not purchase it. 

What a number of mummies are here, and orna- 
mented mummy cases ! and yet this is London, and not 
Egypt. They set one thinking of the pyramids, of the 
statue of Memnon, and Thebes with her hundred gates, 
of the idols, Orus, Apis, Isis, and Osiris. Here is a 
splendid mummy case, half opened, and the embalmed 
mummy half unswathed. 

" And thou hast walk'd about, how strange a story ! 

In Thebes's streets, three thousand years ago, 
When the Memnonium was in all its glory, 

And time had not begun to overthrow 
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, 
Of which the very ruins are tremendous." 

It may not be so with all, but it is with many, that 
the very sight of these remnants of former ages drives 
away much of doubt, and brings much of certainty to 
the mind. We do, in general, but half credit the annals 
of antiquity : we are, in a degree, sceptics, while pro- 
fessing to believe the records of Holy Writ ; but these 
-nummy cases reprove us, and seem to say to us, " See 
md believe." While our sight and senses are, beyond 
\ doubt, convinced that these are the remains of ancient 
Egypt ; our faith is confirmed in the recorded verities 
of Scripture. Yes, it is a truth, and we feel it as such. 



204 THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 

that " Joseph was brought down to Egypt ; and Poti- 
phar, an officer of Pharaoh, captain of the guard, an 
Egyptian, bought him of the hands of the Ishmaelites," 
Gen. xxxix. 1. It is a truth that Joseph sent for his 
father Jacob to dwell with him in the land of Egypt, 
and that, " when he saw the wagons which Joseph had 
sent to carry him, the spirit of Jacob revived." " It is 
enough," said he ; "Joseph my son is yet alive: I will 
go and see him before I die," Gen. xlv. 27, 28. The 
miracles that God performed for his people, rise to our 
remembrance, and the plagues that were spread over the 
land, 

VVlien Moses stretch'd his wonder-working rod, 
And brought the locust on the foes of God ; 
When countless myriads, with despoiling wing, 
Scourged the hard heart of the Egyptian king. 

I have wandered from one piece of sculpture to an- 
other. Here the chisel of Phidias, and there that of 
Praxiteles, has been at work, giving an inestimable 
value to stone. The Elgin marbles ; the relics of the 
Athenian temples ; the statues of Theseus, Illyssus, and 
the Fates ; the frieze of the Parthenon ; the alto-relievo 
representations of the strifes of the Centaurs and the 
Lapithse ; the Townley marbles, and the Egyptian col- 
lection of sculpture, have all been visited, and I could 
now sit me down opposite this huge hieroglyphical sar- 
cophagus, and muse and moralize. The temples of 
olden time ; the artists of genius and talent, whose works 
are before us, and those to whose fame they have vainly 
sought to give immortality — " Where are they ?" The 
mutilated marbles, and time-worn inscriptions of the 
most splendid works of art, seem to press on the reflec- 
tive mind the lesson, " Gratefully enjoy the things of 
time, but forget not those of eternity." 



THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 205 

The print room, to those who are fond of engravings, is 
a treat absolutely inexhaustible. Historical subjects, land- 
capes, seascapes, architectural designs, portraits, animals 
birds, fishes, insects, trees, shells, fossils, fruit, flowers, 
and ornaments, by the most eminent artists, English and 
foreign, are kept in the nicest order. The connoisseur 
and amateur may here revel in boundless variety. The 
library is, perhaps, after all, still more generally valua- 
ble than any other part of the Museum, containing, as it 
does, almost every book from which pleasure and in- 
formation can be derived. The manuscripts are very 
numerous, and the persons in the reading room, where 
I am making my closing remarks, sufficiently testify, 
by their numbers and busy attention, how highly they 
estimate the advantages of the institution. 



CHELSEA COLLEGE, 



GREENWICH HOSPITAL. 

There is the College, and there are the grey-headed 
old soldiers, in their red coats and cocked hats ! I must 
go nearer, and exchange a word or two with these vet- 
erans, for they have plenty of time for talking. 

To say that this is a handsome building, is not saying 
much ; for we may rest assured that every edifice de- 
signed and built by sir Christopher Wren has much to 
recommend it ; but Greenwich Hospital is so far supe- 
rior to it, that it seems to cast Chelsea College into the 
18 



206 



CHELSEA COLLEGE. 



shade. 1 am now arawmg near the aged soldiers, some 
sitting in rows, some standing in groups, and others 
walking about by themselves. 

After all, there is a sobriety about this brick and free- 
stone edifice which pleases me ; for I question if the 
magnificence of a more imposing building would har- 
monize so well with the purpose to which the college is 
applied, and with the plain habits of its inmates. Not 
for a moment, much as I am opposed to war, with its 
multiplied sins and sorrows — not for a moment would I 
abridge of any real comfort or convenience those who 
have fought the battles of my country. Would that I 
could make them more happy than they are, and sec 
the warriors of by-gone days the partakers of a peace 
that "passeth all understanding ;" but a plain building 
seems to me more suitable to them, as a dwelling-place, 
than a structure of magnificence and splendour. I never 
see a Greenwich pensioner by that splendid palace of 
a building, Greenwich Hospital, without thinking that 
custom alone has reconciled us to so strange a contrast. 
How would Old Humphrey, with his homely habits, 
appear, and how would he feel, sitting down to the 
banquet at Buckingham palace, or the castle at Windsor, 
with a silver service before him, and a sot of crimson- 
liveried serving men at his back ? 

But think not that I am ignorant of the general bear- 
ing of these things. It is not only thought necessary 
that disabled soldiers and sailors should be provided for, 
but that the attention paid to them should be visible to 
the public eye ; that it should be known, seen, felt, and 
talked of, that the nation's defenders are not forgotten, — 
that they have pensions granted them, and live in pa 
laces. I blame not this policy, and only say, Would 



CHELSEA COLLEGE. 207 

that we were all as wise for another world as we are 
for this ! 

I remember reading- that sir Stephen Fox, the grand- 
father of the statesman, who projected Chelsea College, 
died in his ninetieth year. A good old age truly : but 
if after threescore years and ten our strength is labour 
and sorrow, it will be far better to prepare to quit the 
world at a much earlier period, than to desire so lengthy 
a pilgrimage. 

Nell Gwyn, the favourite of Charles ii., has the cre- 
dit of having recommended that monarch the adoption 
of sir Stephen Fox's project. Sir Christopher Wren 
was employed, and king Charles laid the foundation 
stone of the building. Sir Stephen Fox's heart must 
have been in the undertaking, for he spent in it twelve 
or thirteen thousand pounds of his own money. It was 
in 1682 that the first stone was laid. 

I have walked through the college, the three courts, 
the garden, and the terraced walks, from the entrance 
down to the side of the Thames, talking with the grey- 
headed soldiers, picking up scraps of information, and 
examining the large bronze statue of Charles ii., and 
other curiosities. 

It appears that there are near five hundred in-pen- 
sioners in the establishment, that regular garrison duty 
is kept up, and that divine service is performed three 
times every week in the chapel. The number of out- 
pensioners is very great. A poundage is paid by the 
whole British army to support the college, and every 
officer and every private soldier contributes a day's pay 
once a year to the fund. The parliament is ever ready 
to make up a deficiency, let the sum be what it may, for 



208 CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 

neither the old soldiers nor the old sailors of England 
are neglected. 

In talking Avith these old fire-locks of England, the 
pensioners, I learn that the origin of the present regu- 
lar army was the corps of Life Guards, established by 
Idng Charles n. ; for the " Yoemen of the Guard"' of 
Henry vii., and the archers or sergeants-at-arms of 
Richard l, could hardly be called soldiers, I learn 
also, from the same authority, that there are not, were 
not, and never will be, any soldiers like those of Old 
England. Aged as some of the inmates of the college 
are, some of them can bristle up even now when a bay- 
onet is spoken of It is high time for them to be still, 
and in charity with all mankind. 

I should take a peep at the boys in the Royal Mili- 
tary Asylum near, dressed up in their red jackets, blue 
breeches and stockings, and black caps, going through 
their exercise ; and at the girls in their red gowns and 
blue petticoats, both the one and the other marching to 
their meals to the sound of the drum ; but Greenwich ' 
Hospital, which I mean to see to-day, is at some distance. 
I must, therefore, instead of visiting the asylum, step on 
board a steamer. Chelsea college, I bid thee farewell ! 
Would that thy grey-haired and furrow-browed inmates 
were fighting as manfully against sin in their age, as 
they have contended against their foes in their youth ! 
Would that they were ready to give glory to thee, rather 
than to themselves, saying, " Thine, O Lord, is the 
greatness, and the power, and the glory, and the victory, 
and the majesty ; for all that is in the heaven and ir the 
earth is thine : thine is the kingdom, O Lord ! and thou 
art exalted as head above all. Both riches and honor 
come of thee, and thou reignest over all ; and in thine 



J 



GREENWICH HOSPITAL. 209 

hand is power and might ; and in thine hand it is to 
make great, and to give strength unto all. Now, there- 
fore, our God, we thank thee, and praise thy glorious 
name," 1 Chron. xxix. 11 — 13. 

* * # * # 

Ay, this looks like a palace indeed, vvith its wings, 
cupolas, pillars, courts, and terraces ! And there are 
long rows of pensioners seated on the benches, talking 
together, and gazing at the ships and steam-boats on the 
river. There are, I am told, at the present time, more 
than two thousand seven hundred of these furrow-faced, 
quiet looking old sojourners snugly nestled in the hos- 
pital. About seven hundred of these are maimed, and 
the infirmities of age must now be creeping, or rather 
leaping on the remainder ; but there is a shadowy side 
to every thing, and I suppose this is the shadowy side 
of Greenwich Hospital. If wisdom and grey hairs of 
necessity went together, this princely pile would be ap- 
proached with reverence ; but we must not expect too 
much of these " men of many years," for the sea is but 
an indifferent school for the mind and manners. The 
warring elements, and the rage of battle, may teach a 
man many things, but they are not the best instructors in 
the fear of the Lord, or in the humanities that should 
be practised among mankind. 

" When looking," says one, " on the faces and forms 
of the soldiers and sailors of Chelsea and Greenwich, 
you would hardly regard them as the thunderbolts of 
war ; for age robs the eye of its fire, and the body of its 
strength, and habits of ease impart an appearance of 
quietude altogether opposed to the fierceness of the 
stormy fight ; but for all this, these are the men who 
18* 



210 GREENWICH HOSPITAL. 

have fough: England's battles, and borne the fury of 
desolating war." 

William and Mary founded Greenwich Hospital for 
the reception of three hundred seamen, aged and maim- 
ed ; and the tablets at the entrance of the hall show 
that liberal hearts and hands have not been wanted to 
support this British institution. Little less than sixty 
thousand pounds have been presented by private peo- 
ple. The sum is large, but the expense of such an in- 
stitution must be great. 

This is a changing world, and time is not only a pul- 
ler down, but also a builder up of palaces. Where 
the hospital now stands, the old palace, in which Ed- 
ward VI. died, once stood. Report says that there is not 
a more beautiful modern building in Europe used for 
a benevolent purpose than the hospital. Christopher 
Wren was the designer, but he only saw one wing of it 
completed. 

Well-dressed visitors are walking on the terraceS; 
and many of a humbler cast are looking around them 
with wonder. The faces of the young are full of holi- 
day. While I am regarding the different groups, some 
of them are regarding me ; thus it is that old and young 
furnish entertainment for each other. 

This splendid building is in five parts, king Charles's, 
queen Anne's, king William's, queen Mary's, and the 
Asylum, or Royal Hospital schools ; and this grand 
square, in which I now stand, with the statue of George 
II. in the centre, must be between two and three hundred 
feet wide. 

* # # * # 

I have seen the old men at dinner in the hall, and 
never before saw such a varied cluster of aged heads 



GREENWICH HOSPITAL. 211 

and wrinkled brows together. I could have sat do\vn 
with the " ancient mariners," and talked with them for 
an hour. How different the stormy scenes in which 
they have acted a part, to the quietude of the life they 
now lead ! I have visited their cabins, for each has 
one to himself, and seen pictures of sea fights, and old 
admirals, and family portraits, and models of ships, and 
shells, and sharks' teeth, and curiosities of other kinds. 
Now and then a thumb-marked Bible was visible, but 
more frequently a jest book and boasting ballad. Most 
of the pensioners must be treading on the brink of an 
eternal world ; but I fear, without being severe in my 
judgment, that not many of them are prepared to say, 
in the valley of the shadow of death, " O death, where 
is thy sting ? O grave, where is thy victory ? The 
sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law ; 
but thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through 
our Lord Jesus Christ," 1 Cor. xv. 55 — 57. 

I have passed through the Chapel, and listened to 
the description given me of its statues, its pillars, and its 
paintings. I have admired the Great Hall, with the 
costly productions of the pencil of sir James Thornhill, 
and of other celebrated artists. I have glanced at the 
schools, upper and lower, and mentally given my bless- 
ing to the boys and girls who are there instructed, and 
I am now gazing on Flamstead House, or the Royal 
Observatory. This place is the meridian whence Eng- 
lish astronomers make their calculations, and it contains 
some of the best astronomical instruments in Europe. 
Groups of children are running down the adjoining hill. 
Bless their young and happy hearts ! I could almost 
join them in their sport. May the Father of mercies 



212 Gxvi.t.NWICH HOSPITAL. 

satisfy them early with his mercy, and give them to re- 
joice and be glad all their days ! 

This park is indeed a famous place to ramble in, witli 
its broad plains, romantic hills, antlered herd, and beau- 
tiful view of the river. What glorious trees are spread- 
ing out their wide branches, and what gigantic stems, 
in goodly avenues, intercept the view of distant objects! 
Seated under them, on the benches, are visitors of all 
ages. Childhood and youth, manhood and old age are 
there; and the clusters of grey-headed veterans, weather- 
beaten old tars, diversify the scene. Yonder sits one 
alone, beneath a spreading chestnut, idly pushing aside 
with his stick the dry leaves and prickly chestnut balls 
that lie at his feet. " Man of years, what are thy mus- 
ings ? Does the stormy fight of Copenhagen or Tra- 
falgar — the battle of the Nile or of Navarino, occupy 
thy thoughts ? — Come, come, thou art a grey-headed 
and very old man, and it is high time for thee and for 
me to be thinking of different things. ' Is there not an 
appointed time to man upon earth V ' The day of the 
Lord will come as a tliief in the night.' ' We shall all 
stand before the judgment seat of Christ. Every one 
of us shall give accoimt of himself to God.' ■ The 
wicked shall go away into everlasting punishment, but 
the righteous into life eternal.' "' 

I have had my ramble from the park entrance to 
Blackheath, talked with the old pensioners and the 
young children, peeped through the telescopes, gazed 
on the deer, mused beneath the trees, and enjoyed the 
bright heavens above me, and the fair prospect around ; 
and now I quit the place, with groups of old pensioners 
and cheerful parties of all ages around me, the language 
of my heart is, " Young men and maidens, old men and 



TIIE DIORAMA. 213 

children, praise the name of the Lord : for his name 
alone is excellent ; his glory is above the earth and hea. 
ven. Praise ye the Lord." Psa. cxlviii. 12 — 14. 



THE DIORAMA, AND COSMORAMA. 

THE DIORAMA. 

The Shrine of the Nativity. — The panoramas 
which are exhibited, from time to time, are on a much 
more extended scale, and the cosmoramas present a 
greater variety of views to the eye than the dioramas ; 
but the latter are far more arresting than either of the 
former. The peculiarity of the style in which they 
are painted, the varied lights cast upon them, and the 
changes they exhibit, give them a decided advantage 
over every other exhibition of paintings, so far as an 
approach to reality is concerned. The illusion, indeed, 
after gazing for a short time, is so complete, that an 
effort of the mind is required to convince the spectator 
that he is net gazing on tangible things, bat only on a 
shadowy resemblance of them. 

Perhaps, of all the dioramas hitherto exhibited in 
London, that of the Shrine of the Nativity at Bethle- 
hem is the most successful in its influence over the 
spectator. It is true, that the scene it presents is not at 
all likely, of itself, to carry back our associations to 
that lowly stable at Bethlehem, where the holy Child 
Jesus was born. The commonest woodcut of the man- 
ger and the oxen, that ever yet was appended to the 



214 



THE DIORAMA. 



cradle hymn of Dr. Watts, would be more likely to 
produce this effect than the sumptuous, the splendid, 
the magnificent spectacle of the shrine of the nativity ; 
but in the power of impressing- the gazer with the 
reality of the objects presented to the eye, the glittering 
lamps, the stately pillars, the shrine, the crucifix, and 
the pictures, it is unrivalled. 

I have ascended the staircase, passed through the 
darkened room at its summit, and groped my way 
downwards, with my hand against the wall, to a seat 
immediately in front of the part appointed for the exhi- 
bition. Audible voices tell me that half a dozen or a 
dozen persons must be present, but as yet I can discern 
no one. Scribbling with my pencil, in darkness, I am 
gazing on the illuminated lamps, which seem to cast no 
light, except round the immediate place where they are 
suspended. A female voice is indulging in a levity 
quite at variance with the impressive gloom, and an 
occasional laugh is heard from the opposite end of the 
benches. 

The low, tremulous toll of a distant bell has vibrated 
through the place, and, by slow and scarcely perceptible 
degrees, the other lamps of the picture have been illu- 
minated. There is the shrine of the nativity ! A cor- 
rect resemblance of the one now in existence in Beth- 
lehem, said to be erected where our Saviour was born. 
" And thou, Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not 
the least among the princes of Juda ; for out of thee 
shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people 
Israel," Matt. ii. 6. 

At this moment, the ardent fervour of an oriental 
fancy could scarcely surpass, in its creations, the mag- 
nificent scene before me. The silvery sparkling of the 



THE DIORAMA. 215 

burning lights ; the golden glare of the lamps, chains, 
and picture frames ; the rich yellow, topaz-like radi- 
ance that is shed around ; and the deep, mellow 
shadows, with the bold relief they afford, are truly 
exquisite. 

The two worshippers seen at their devotions, the one 
kneeling with his face buried in his hands ; the other 
altogether prostrated on the floor, add much to the aw- 
fulness of the scene. Brilliant and varied hues, strik- 
ing objects, with strong h'ghts and shadows, are blend- 
ing their influence, with that of stillness, solemnity, 
and interesting associations. The light-hearted female 
has ceased her jocose remarks ; the scene has subdued 
her hilarity, and a breathless silence reigns around. 

To the right is the spot intended to denote where the 
manger stood, and near it is an altar to mark the place 
where the magi worshipped the Redeemer ; " And 
when they were come into the house, they saw the 
young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and 
worshipped him : and when they had opened their 
treasures, they presented unto him gifts ; gold, and 
frankincense and myrrh," Matt. ii. 11. 

It is said that there are few spots pointed out to the 
pilgrim or visitor to the Holy Land, better authenticated 
than that of the nativity. It seems scarcely probable 
that the early Christians would altogether lose sight of 
its locality. According to history^ a temple was erected 
over the spot, by the emperor Hadrian, about a hundred 
years before the present edifice was formed. Whether 
contempt or jealousy of the Christians led on the empe- 
ror to this undertaking, it would be hard to determine. 

Bethlehem, the birthplace of David, is represented by 
travellers to be a village beautifully situated on an emi- 



216 THE DIORAMA. 

nence overlooking tlie Dead Sea, and the solitary wil- 
derness of Engedi. The olive, the vine, and the fig 
tree flourish in the country around it; and from the 
high grounds may be seen the distant mountains of Moab 
and Idumea. 

Changing as the scene does, representing the shrine 
of the nativity, as it now exists, and then the celebration 
of mass by the Franciscan monks, the visitor gazes with 
astonishment and awe ; but when, by imperceptible de- 
grees, the whole, as if by magic, becomes lighted up 
with bewildering brilliancy, and the organ chaunts a 
solemn tune, his amazement is extreme. 

Coronation of queen Victoria. — This splendid re- 
presentation cannot fail to interest the spectator ; for, 
though a sight of the ceremony is so much desired, few 
people, comparatively, can be present at a coronation. 
1 am sometimes looking at the attractive personages 
congregated together on the canvass, and sometimes re- 
garding the architecture and decorations of the venera- 
ble abbey of Westminster, as exhibited in the painting. 
They are both very effective, though appearing to some 
disadvantage, coming after the superior brilliancy of the 
scene Avhich has so recently preceded them. The fixed 
position of the worshippers at their devotions, in the 
shrine of the nativity, is in strict keeping with the scene, 
and heightens the effect of the painting ; but here, in the 
coronation, it is otherwise, for the motionless attitude ol 
so many figures imparts a monotonous, statue-like ef- 
fect that is never altogether dissipated. 

There sits the queen m king Edward's chair, hold- 
ing in her hands the royal scej tre, the ensign of power 
and justice, and the rod, the emblem of equity and mercy 



THE DIORAMA. 217 

The archbishop of Canterbury is placing- the crown 
Upon her head. At her right hand stand the peers who 
have assisted at the ceremony, in their gowns of crimson 
velvet, and capes of ermine. At her left hand, stand the 
bishops, robed in black and white. In the box, on one 
side, are the royal family ; and in the other parts, the 
foreign ambassadors with their ladies, the peers and 
peeresses, the judges, the lord mayor, the sheriffs, maids 
of honour, officers, and other attendants. 

Hark ! what a startling sound! A flourish of trum- 
pets has announced that Victoria is crowned ; and ima- 
gination hears the distant thunderings of the Tower 
guns, and the nearer acclamations of the people, '• God 
save the Queen !" The thunder of the cannon has 
ceased, the clangour of the trumpet is still, and even 
now can I fancy that the voice of the archbishop is 
heard, as he thus addresses the queen : " Be strong and 
of good couragn, observe tlie commandments of God, 
and walk in his holy ways; fight the good light of 
faith, and lay hold on eternal life ; that in this world 
you may be crowned with success and honour, and 
when you have finished your course, receive a crown 
of righteousness, which God, the righteous Judge, shall 
give you in that day. Amen." 

The company assembled are growing a little more 
talkative ; some are speaking of the queen, some arc 
pointing out particular peers and peeresses, while others 
are admiring the dresses and decorations so prodigally 
spread out before them. The coronation is a striking- 
and solemn ceremony, from the entrance into the cathe- 
dral to the recess. I think of the recognition, the obla- 
tions, the services, the sermon, the oath, and the anoint- 
ing ; the investing with the royal robes, the putting, on 
19 



218 THE COSMORAMA. 

the crown, the presentation of the Holy Bible, the be* 
nediction, the enthronization, the homage, the commu- 
nion, and the final prayers. But while I am noting 
down these remarks, the company are preparing to de- 
part. I must now proceed to the Cosmorama. 

THE COSMORAMA. 

This, then, is the Cosmorama. The little book put 
into my hand tells me that I have eight different views 
to gaze on. The Rope Bridge of Penipe, in South 
America ; the Palace of Zenobia, at Palmyra ; Con- 
stantinople during the conflagration in 1839; the Pa- 
lace of Versailles ; General View of Rome ; the Park 
of Versailles ; the Lake of Thun, in Switzerland ; and 
the Village of Baden. 

Often and often have I reflected on the varied and 
almost endless gratifications which await us, both in the 
aatural and artificial creation ! Truly, if our harps are 
not on the willows, if our hearts are in tune, a song of 
thanksgiving should be ever in our mouths. 

The crowded city and the rural scene, 

Alike are teeming with almighty lore ! 

Here the great Maker of this wondrous world 

Sets forth his power and goodness infinite, 

In mountain, vale, and wood ; and there displays 

The gifted properties on man bestow'd. 

Though supplied with a book, giving some account 
of the different paintings, and furnished with paper on 
•which to note down any suggestion that may occur to 
me, this passage is so dark, that I can neither read nor 
write legibly, without approaching the little windows, 
through which I must look to see the views. 

The Eope Bridge of Penipe is the first painting. 



THE COSMORAMA. 219 

and a striking one it is. The bridge of twisted rushes, 
with sticks laid across, covered with branches of trees 
for a flooring, is represented as stretching over the river 
Chambo, near the village of Penipe, from rock to rock, 
a distance of one hundred and twenty feet. To cross 
such a bridge, a strong head, a bold heart, and a steady- 
foot must be necessary. I can fancy a timid person, 
following his Indian guide, while the violent oscillation 
of the bridge hanging in air blanches his cheek, and 
makes his limbs tremble. Some say, and many things 
are more improbable, that the notion of suspension 
bridges arose from the rope bridges of South America. 
We need not, however, have travelled so far to make 
the discovery, as any spider w^ould have furnished us 
with a model both scientific and secure. 

The Palace of Zenobia is one of the principal re- 
mains of the city of Palmyra. The Corinthian style 
of architecture, with the vastness that characterized the 
Egyptian buildings, are both sufficiently apparent. 
Palmyra was the Tadmor of king Solomon, a magni- 
ficent city of Syria, the stupendous ruins of Avhich are 
situated in the midst of a sandy and sterile desert, 
around which, on three sides, mountains rise of con- 
siderable eminence. Zenobia was queen of Palmyra. 
Beautiful in person, and of extraordinary intellect, she 
united the refinement of the Grecian with the hardihood 
of the Roman character : this was her palace. In the 
pride of her power, she thought lightly of Rome ; but 
Aurelian came as a conqueror, and her city was swept 
with the besom of destruction. Palmyra was a splen- 
did city, afterwards a towm of little note ; at a still later 
date it was an unimportant fortress, and now it is a mere 



220 • THE COSMORAMA. 

miserable village. The costly ruins of its former great- 
ness form a strange contrast to its present humiliation; 
for mud cottages now stand in the spacious court of the 
once splendid temple. 

The owlet builds her nest in princely halls ; 
The lizard's slime bestreaks the palace walls ; 
No trace of man, save that the embers spent, 
Show where the wandering Arab pitch'd his tent, 
The ruin tells us that fhe despot's hand 
.Spreads desolation o'er the wretched land ; 
And tombs o'erthrown, and plunder'd fanes declare 
Too plain— the royal robber has been there. 

As I gaze on the painting, it wonderfully improves 
in appearance : what was a mere picture is now a real 
ruin, and in fancy I am standing in the midst of its 
mouldering magnificence. Mark the square blocks of 
stone through the principal portal, and the beautiful 
pillars, in the distance to the left, contrasted with the 
strength of the foreground. 

Palmyra tells a tale of other times, 

War and the whirlwind have alike despoil'd her. 

Constantinople, DURING the conflagration of 1839, 
must have been an awful spectacle. The little device 
of introducing an apparent flame that bursts forth, fling- 
ing a frightful red glare on the city, and then as suddenly 
subsides, involving the place in portentious gloom, is 
very effective. It gives a reality to the representation. 

What a dreadful calamity is an extensive fire ! Three 
thousand seven hundred houses were destroyed. De- 
spairing fathers, frantic mothers, shrieking children, 
bedridden and helpless old age, all at their wit's end. 
Alarm visited every house ! Terror strided through the. 
streets, and destruction in all directions raged abroad. 

The shout of fire ! a dreadful cry, 
Inpress'd each heart with deep dismay, 
While the fierce blaze and redd'ning sky, 
Made midnight wear the face of day. 



THE COSMORAMA. 221 

The building at the entrance of the Bosphorous 
there, is the seraglio, or palace of the sultan. To the 
right is the dome of Santa Sophia, the most celebrated 
mosque of the Moslems ; and yonder is Pera, where 
the foreign ambassadors, the dragomans, and Frank 
merchants reside. Visit Constantinople as you will, by 
the Dardanelles and sea of Marmora, by the Black Sea 
and the Bosphorus, by the plains of Thrace or the hills 
of Asia, she will always be seen to advantage. 

At present, the inhabitants of Constantinople follow 
the false Prophet ; but the Christian humbly believes 
that the Mohammedan crescent will yet wane before 
the Star of Bethlehem. In vain shall the enemies of 
the cross contend against almighty power ; at the ap- 
pointed time, " the Lamb shall overcome them ; for he 
is Lord of lords, and King of kings : and they that are 
with him are called, and chosen, and faithful," Rev. 
xvii. 14. 

The Palace of Versailles is an admirable view. 
The building, trees, gardens, flowers, hedges, grass, 
and w^ater, are all excellent. Years have passed since 
I looked on the real palace ; but this representation of 
it brings it back to my gaze, as though it were just be- 
fore me. The faqade of one thousand nine hundred 
feet, the projections, Ionic columns, and statues of mar- 
ble and bronze, are truly magnificent. 

The centre statue, in the distance, represents Marcus 
Curtius leaping into the abyss, as a sacrifice for the 
good of his country ; and the fountain on the left is the 
Fontaine de Pyramide, formed of four basins, one ris 
ing above another. Every spectator will be interested 
by this view of the palace of Versailles. Such as have 
19* 



222 THE COSMORAMA. 

seen the original will admire it for its correctness ; and 
those who have not will be spell-bound by its beauty 
and magnificence 

A group of chilaren nas entered the place, to witness 
the wonders of the Cosmorama. They are peeping 
through the little windows at the different views, full of 
joyous exclamation. With children, pictures are al- 
ways perfect. 

In happy ignorance o! art, tliey see 

Beauty in every plant anil spreading tree ; 

Gaze on the woutls and waves, with glad surprise, 

And speak their pleasure with their sparkling eyes. 

Let there be red, and blue, and green, and yellow 
enough in his brush, and a painter may calculate on the 
youthful world for his admirers. 

This General View of Rome takes not my fancy, 
though it will be full of interest to those who never saw 
a better. St. Peter's and the Vatican, with its colon- 
nade, and obelisk, and fountain : the Pantheon, the Co- 
losseum, and the Antonine and Trajan pillars, are ob- 
jects which associations render attractive ; but on so 
miniature a scale, they can scarcely be expected to be 
very effective. The road between the trees there would 
be accurately traced ly the eye of a Roman Catholic, 
for it leads to that mother of churches, St. Giovanni 
Laterana, the oldest in Europe, wherein .the pope is 
consecrated. The scene before me takes back the 
thought 

To that proud capital, where Cesars found a home, 

When Rome was all the world, and all the world was Rome. 

The temple of Jupiter Stator, the ruins of the palace 
of the emperors, and the Fontana Paolina, the finest 
fountain in Rome, may all be clearly distinguished by 



THE COSMORAMA. 223 

those who have a knowk^'dge of the once imperial city. 
The Corso, the finest street in Rome, may also be 
traced, with the Gluirinal Palace, the towers of St. 
Maria Maggiore, and the receding waters of the river 
Tiber. 

Though the imperial city of Rome had not, like 
Athens, an altar inscribed " To the unknown God," yet 
did its citizens ignorantly worship stocks and stones, as 
the people of Athens. They were wholly given up to 
idolatry. 

The Park of Versailles, like the palace, is an ob- 
ject which at once arrests the attention ; and the longer 
you gaze, the more are you disposed to linger on the 
scene before you. The foreground, fountains, with 
their margms of white marble, and groups of bronze 
figures, are very fine ; and still more magnificent is the 
Fountain of Latona, with the white marble figures on 
the red marble steps, surrounded by seventy-four gigan- 
tic frogs spouting out crystal streams. The spectator, 
unacquainted with the fable of Jupiter, metamorphosing 
the peasants of Lybia into frogs, for refusing refresh- 
ments to Latona, will be at a loss to make out what is 
signified by the scene. 

The canal there, more than four thousand feet long, 
crossed by one whose length is three thousand, forms a 
prominent feature in the representation. I could dwell 
on the particular points that afford me satisfaction ; but 
all appear beautiful. The sky is bright, and the park 
is deliglitful. The palace and park of Versailles, most 
certainly, form one of the most attractive scenes m the 
world. 

The Village of Baden, though presenting to the 



224 THE COSMORAMA. 

eye of the spectator a view of one of the most pictu- 
resque spots in all Syria, is to me one of the least im- 
pressive scenes in the exhibition. 

When the fierce and fiery beams of the summer sun 
drive away the inhabitants of Scanderoon from the 
marshy and unhealthy situation of their dwellings, they 
find an agreeable retreat in the village of Baden, where 
excellent fruits and good water await them. The aque- 
duct arches, the Santon's tomb, the minaret and dome 
of the mosque, the gulf of Ajazza, and the distant 
mountains of Lebanon, are not without interest; but so 
much are they eclipsed by several of the other scenes, 
that I will not dwell upon them. 

The Lake of Thun, in Switzerland, is to me by far 
the most attractive representation of the Cosmorama. 
It is enough to make the common-place spectator imagi- 
native, and to inspire the poetic visitant with high- 
wrought visions of romantic beauty. To decide whether 
the mountains, the trees, or the skies are the most lovely, 
would be an arduous undertaking. If the sublime and 
beautiful were ever closely connected, they are so in 
these smiling valleys, these cultivated hills, and mighty 
mountains, whose cloud-capped, icy pinnacles are lost 
amid the skies. 

Well may such scenes be valued by the Switzer pea- 
sant ! Well may they afford pleasure to him by day, 
and mingle with his dreams by night ! 

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
And dear that hill that lifts him to the storms,; 
And as a balie, when sr ariiig sounds molest, 
Clings close arid closer to his mother's breast. 
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 



THE COSMORAMA. 225 

The lake of Thim is more than seventeen hundred feet 
above the level of the sea, while the Niesen, Moine, 
Riger, and Jungfrau mountains lift their snowy heads 
thirteen thousand feet and more amid the clouds. All 
that is picturesque and fair in Alpine scenery seems 
here embodied. The river Aar, which runs below the 
spot whence this view is taken, descending from the 
Finster-Aarhorn, rolls al6ng the base of the glaciers, 
collecting all their tributary waters, and distributing 
them among the lakes of Thun and Brienta. It after- 
wards pursues a course somewhat circuitous to the 
Rhine on the German frontier. I must now bid adieu 
to the Cosmorama. 

In perambulating from one exhibition to another, of 
panoramas, dioramas, and cosmoramas ; of architecture, 
statuary, painting, science, and literature — the thought 
intrudes itself. Oh that all who have talent, all who ex- 
cel among mankind, would bear in mind whence their 
powers were derived, and would humbly adore the 
Giver of all good for the endowments with which he 
has favoured them in this w'orld, and the revelation of 
his mercy through the Redeemer ! 

It was a desire of this kind that moved the spirit of 
Kirke White to fling upon his paper the following 
beautiful, though somewhat florid thoughts : 



"Oh! I would walk 
A weary journey to the farthest verge 
Of the big world, to kiss that good man's hand, 
Who, in the blaze of wisdom and of art, 
Preserves a lowly mind, and to his God, 
Feeling the sense of his own littleness, 
Is as a child in meek simplicity ! 
What is the pomp of learning? the parade 
Of letters and of tongues? Even as the mists 
Of the grey morn before the rising sun, 



226 THE DOCKS. 

That pass away and perish. Earthly things 
Are but the transient pageants of an hour; 
And earthly pride is like the passing flower 
That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die 



THE DOCKS. 



There are in London many institutions and exhibi- 
tions which do little more than commmiicate pleasure 
to those who visit them, or promote the advancement ol 
particular branches in arts and sciences. There are 
others more closely connected with our common com- 
forts, our every day luxuries, and, indeed, with our very 
existence as a great nation. Among these latter, the 
Docks occupy a high place. In a national and 
individual point of view, they are of incalculable im- 
portance. 

What a night on the globe would prevail, 
How forlorn each blank region would be, 

Did the canvass no more catch the gale. 
Nor the keel cleave the fathomless sea. 

When, for a moment, we consider that not less than 
four thousand ships are employed in bringing the pro- 
ducts of other countries into the port of London, and in 
bearing away thence the manufactures and merchandize 
of England ; that fifteen thousand cargoes enter the port 
every year, and that there are seldom less than two 
thousand vessels in the Docks and the river, to say no- 
thing of three thousand barges and small craft occupied 
in lading and unlading : when we think of these things, 
and at the same time call to mind that more than two 
thousand boats and wherries enable at least eight thou- 



THE DOCKS. 227 

sand watermen to pick up a livings in plying them ; that 
four thousand labourers find employment in lading and 
unlading the ships ; and that twelve thousand revenue 
officers are required to discharge the duties of the port 
and the river, we cannot but regard the Docks with in- 
terest as well as curiosity. 

The East India Docks are at Blackwall ; the West 
India Docks lie across the neck of the Isle of Dogs, 
between Limehouse and Blackwall ; the London Docks 
are at Wapping ; and St. Katharine's Docks lie be- 
tween Wapping and the Tower. I visited them all 
years ago, and walking over the same ground again to- 
day, brings many things to my mind, which for some 
time have escaped my memory. How often the things 
of earth remind us of friends who are in heaven ? How 
often do inanimate objects around us cry aloud to us 
" What man is he that liveth, and shall not see death ?" 
" Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return," Psa. 
Ixxxix. 48 ; Gen. iii. 19. 

As a stranger approaches the Docks, he will have 
many indications of their locality. A solitary, chop- 
fallen sailor walks along slowly, with his hands in the 
pockets of his trowers. He has had his frolic, he has 
spent his money, and has " got no ship." Half-a-dozen 
blue jackets, some with canvass caps, and others with 
new black hats on their heads, not over steady in their 
appearance, pass on with a rolling walk, and enter the 
public house at the corner. I have just come by a 
sailor, exhibiting a painting of a shipwreck. There he 
is with a copper coin in his pocket, which a minute 
ago was in mine. He has lost both his legs, and would, 
no doubt, give me a full, true, and particular account of 
his birth, parentage, education, and misfortune, were I 



228 THE DOCKS. 

to require it at his hands. Where is the heart that has 
not its tale of sorrow ? 

Though we to day sweet peace possess, 

It soon may be withdrawn ; 
Some change may plunge us in distress 

Before to-morrow's dawn. 

Half-an-hour ago, as I turned along the street by the 
side of the India house, at least twenty seamen in their 
holiday clothes stood congregated together on one side 
of the street, while a man, in a Scotch dress, playing on 
the bag-pipes, paraded backwards" and forwards before 
them on the other. Another man, a complete High- 
lander in face, figure, dress, and activity, was dancing 
the Highland fling, with an unwonted degree of vigor, 
and apparent lightheartedness, while the delighted tars 
showered upon him their bounty with liberal handg. 
Some of these seamen were as fine looking men as any 
in the world. 

The principal entrance to the East India Docks is at 
Poplar, where buildings have been erected for the ac- 
commodation of those employed in the several ware- 
houses and in the quays. I have just been on board a 
vessel bound for the Mauritius. The dock for loading 
outwards is more than seven hundred feet long ; and 
that for unloading inwards double that length, by a 
breadth of five hundred feet. The warehouses and 
quays are very spacious. It is a busy scene, when an 
East India fleet arrives Avith its produce of tea, coffee, 
silk, wool, cotton, indigo, saltpetre, mace, nutmegs, cam- 
phor, elephants' teeth, muslins, and other commodities. 

The stranger desirous to see all that is interesting in 
the Docks of the metropolis, should not omit, when at 
Blackwall, to visit what is said to be the largest private 
dock in Europe. On one of the quays, blubber is land 



THE DOCKS. 229 

ed from Greenland ships. On another are powerful 
cranes for landing anchors and guns ; and on a third a 
machine for masting and dismasting vessels with more 
than usual despatch. How comparatively feeble is man, 
until the powers of his mind are called into action ! He 
invents machinery, and then goes forth with more than 
the strength of a giant. 

Before tlie establishment of the Marine Policej in 
1798, the robberies which took place on the river were 
very frequent, and sometimes very extensive. Where 
plunder is to be had, plunderers will be found. 

When we reflect on the valuable cargoes with which 
ships are freighted from the East and West, and on the 
daring characters that abound in large cities and sea- 
ports, it will not excite wonder, that so long as vessels 
remained in an unprotected state, continual attempts 
should be made to plunder them. To such a pitch of 
audacity has pillage been carried on in the river, that a 
vessel has been known to be boarded, during the night, 
by a desperate gang, her anchor weighed, and both 
anchor and cable borne away in presence of the captain, 
in spite of all his attempts to prevent it. As on land 
ihere are thieves of all grades, from the reckless high- 
wayman and burglar, to the fearful and wily pickpocket, 
so on the water, there were spoilers of all kinds, ready 
to rob on a large or small scale, from a cargo, to a cocoa- 
nut or a nutmeg. The river pirate boldly took, by open 
force, his share of the booty. The night plunderer 
Dribed the watchmen on board, and by their connivance, 
bore away in his boat all that he could conveniently re- 
move. The light horseman, on good terms with the 
mates of ships and revenue officers, opened hogsheads 
of sugar and other produce, plundering them with im- 
20 



230 THE DOCKS. 

punity The heavy horseman stowed away, beneath 
his ample dress, as much coffee, ginger, and cocoa, as 
he could well carry ; while the gauze lighterman was 
ever ready to receive stolen goods. Besides these, there 
were the mudlark and the scupple hunter : the former 
prowling about at low water, receiving in his small bag 
such petty packages as he could get from his dishonest 
friends on board ; and the latter sneaking about the 
wharfs and quays, under pretence of wanting work, to 
pick up every thing and any thing that came to hand. 

The West India Docks have very extensive ranges 
of warehouses for the stowage of merchandize. The 
northern dock, for unloading ships arriving from the 
West Indies, is two thousand six hundred feet in length, 
by a breadth of more than five hundred. Here a fleet 
of three hundred West Indiamen may ride safely. The 
southern dock, for loading outward-bound vessels, will 
hold, at least, two hundred ships. Before the formation 
of the West India Docks, the river used td be very in- 
conveniently crowded on the arrival of a fleet. 

# # * * * 

The Wapping entrance to the London Docks is be- 
fore me. Workmen, revenue officers, merchants, clerks, 
porters, and visitors, are passing to and fro. On the 
right, stand a number of caravan-looking accounting 
houses on wheels, that they may be removed from place 
to place ; and the painted boards in the front announce 
the intelligence that carts, wagons, vans with springs, 
and every other accommodation, for the speedy and 
safe removal of merchandize, may be there obtained. 
On the left, stand empty and laden wains, cabs, and 
coaches, with their attendant wagoners in frocks, coach- 
men in great coats, and cab-drivers in similar attire. 



THE DOCKS. 231 

Against the wall, by the gates, are placards of the 
iifferent vessels about to sail to all parts of the world ; 
a goodly number of ships bound to Australia, New 
South Wales, and Van Diemen's Land among them. 
On enterjnfy the g-ates, the immense area is covered with 
pipes and casks of different kinds of wine, to be inspected 
before they are stowed in the ground floors and vaults 
of the surrounding warehouses. 

Masts without number now attract my attention, 
figure-heads, and the great bulging bows of vessels. A 
confused mass of closely reefed sails, rigging, blocks, 
and tackling. Here is a lad swinging in the noose of 
a rope half way down the hull of a ship, turning an iron 
nut with a nut-screw ; and there is another busily em- 
ployed at the mast head. Seamen, fair, sunburnt, 
swarthy, and black, are on the decks and round the ca- 
booses, and "Heave ho!" is heard in different direc- 
tions, as the tackling creaks, and the heavy hogsheads 
dangle in the air. 

Years ago I came to this place to welcome home an 
aged relative, to whom, in my youthful days, 1 was 
strongly attached : he had just arrived from the western 
world. Twenty summers and winters had he passed 
in the woody lands on the banks of the Delaware, and 
so much was he altered in appearance, that, at first, I 
passed him by as a stranger. Time had been busy 
with him, bleaching his hair like flax, furrowing his 
cheeks and brow, and impairing the strength of his 
body and his mind. I could have wept like a child, 
for affection was strong within me. Well ! I must not 
linger on the scene. Many were the days of his pil- 
grimage, and his white hairs reminded ti'iose who loved 
him, not only that he had walked long with God on 



232 THE DOCKS. 

earth, but that he would soon dwell with Him in hea- 
ven. Since then, I have witnessed his last sigh, closed 
his dyinq- eyes, and followed him to the grave. 

oil fear not. Christian, to die, 

For death is the end of thy woes ; 
And the sleep of the grave will pass by 

As a night of refreshing repose. 

The labourer that rests through the gloom, 

At the dawn of the day will arise ; 
And ere long wilt thou sj)ring from the tomb, 

And he winging thy way to the skies. 

The stores of wine in the vaults of this place are im- 
mense, as well as those of brandy, rum, and hoilands ; 
while, in the warehouses, the amount of tea, tobacco, 
and indigo, is equally astonishing. As 1 continue my 
walk round the several quays, I step for a moment into 
the different warehouses, to mark the different kinds of 
merchandize that are laid up there. One place is filled 
with wool, another piled with hemp, and a third occu- 
pied with cork, tied up in large bundles. On every 
hand, something is doing around me ; pipes of wine, 
puncheons of rum, hogsheads of sugar, and boxes of 
raisins and currants, are hoisted by cranes from the quay 
to the ships, or from the ships to the quay. I see boxes 
of fruit, bales of silk, bundles of hides, packages of wool, 
glue, glass, madder, shell-lac, spices, tallow, oil, wax, 
gum, whalebone, leather, sponge, and a hundred other 
commodities, while piles of iron in bars, and logwood 
in logs, vary the scene. 

A party of strangers, judging by the curiosity and 
wonder visible in their eyes, are now walking along the 
quay ; the ladies are not a little incommoded by the 
ropes and pullies, the trucks of the workmen, and the 
packages that intercept their course ; yet they take it 
all with 2:ood humour: it would be unreasonable to 



THE DOCKS. 233 

take it otherwise : the real business of life cannot be al- 
lowed to stand still, w^hile we practise its courtesies and 
civilities. 

The outlet of the dock to the river forcibly reminds 
me of an occurrence which was very near proving fatal. 
A young friend, about to embark for Sydney, some 
years ago, had lingered on the quay with her friends, 
till the vessel had almost quitted the lock, sailing on- 
wards for the Thames ; there was but just time for any 
one to proceed up the rope ladder with safety. My 
young friend attempted to do this, but faltered. It was 
a critical moment. Had she fallen into the lock, it 
would have been her destruction. Perceiving that she 
had lost her presence of mind, I snatched her away from 
the ladder, just as the vessel had cleared the lock. The 
remembrance of her perilous situation and escape, even 
now, makes me draw my breath quicker than ordinary. 
About a month ago, I again saw her embark with her 
husband, on her second voyage to Sydney. 

I am now looking on a brig, that lies close up to the 
quay, and I could look at her for an hour, having just 
picked up the information, from a sailor on board, that 
she was all but wrecked in the Bay of Biscay. There 
she is with a chain cable passed twice around her hull, 
her bows staved in, her bulwarks broken clean off, and 
her masts carried by the board. Her jurymast is a 
mere spar, and she carries not a rag deserving the name 
of a sail. How such a broken craft could ride the 
waters is wonderful. While 1 look at her, the Bay of 
Biscay scene is before me — the roaring winds, the black 
sky, and the heaving ocean. Hark how her strained tim- 
bers creak between the blasts of the tempest ! tier mast 
IS struck by the lightning, and now it is carried away. 
20* 



234 THE DOCKS. 

What a fearful crash ! He who can mete out the sea 
in the hollow of his hand, can alone save her crew from 
destruction ! He has commanded the winds to cease. 
'• He maketh the stormacalm, so that the waves thereof 
are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet ; 
so he bringeth them unto their desired haven," Psa. 
cvii. 29, 30. 

When we see the reckless life that sailors too often 
lead, and when we call to remembrance our own utter 
unworthiness, well may each of us exclaim, Ldrd, 
"what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the 
son of man that thou visitest him ?" Psa. viii. 4. How 
terrible is the wide ocean in its rage ! and yet 

Life is a sea as fathomless, 
As wide, as terrible, and yet sometimes 
As calin and lieaiitifal. The light of heaven 
Smiles on it, and 'lis deck'd vith every hue 
Of glory and of joy. Anon dark clouds 
Arise, contending winds go forth abroad, 
And Hope sits weeping o'er a general wreck 
And thou must sail upon this sea, a long 
Eventful voyage. Tiie wise may suffer wreck, 
The foolish m\ist. Oh, then, be early wise : 
J.earn from the marinei his skilful art. 
To ride upon the waves, and catch the breeze, 
And dare the threat'ning storm, and trace a path 
'Mid countless dangers, to the destined port 
Unerringly secure. Oh, learn from him 
To station quick-eyed Prudence at the helm. 
To guard thyself from Passion's sudden blasts, 
And make Religion thy magnetic guide. 
Which, though it trembles as it lonely lies, 
Points to the light that changes not, in heaven. 
* * # * * 

I have quitted the London Docks, and am now at 
those of St. Katharine. It is a sight somewhat strange 
lo see a fleet of merchantmen riding on the waters, oc- 
cupying a spot where, a short time before, might be 
seen huge buildings of substantial masonry, a beautiful 



THE DOCKS. 235 

church, and a resting place for the departed dead ; yet 
w it is : for where the river of mammon runs, it sweeps 
away all that interferes with its free course. The stran- 
gei' who has not seen the neighbourhood of the Tower 
and Wapping. for the last twenty years, will look 
around in vain for the ancient and beautiful church of 
St. Katharine, once belonging to the old hospital, 
founded by king Stephen's queen, Matilda. It is gone, 
together with its burial ground, and the large brew- 
eries near. The site they covered is occupied by St. 
Katharine's Docks. St. Katharine's church is now in 
the Regent's Park, with its almshouse, master, brethren, 
sisters, poor scholars, and beadsmen. 

The new dock of St. Katharine's occupies a space 
of twenty-one acres, in which, a hundred and twenty 
fine ships find sufficient room. The quay appears to- 
day more than ordinarily crowded with merchandize 
and people, though the rain is lalling last and freely. 
As i walked here, the policemen had their oilcase capes 
un, umbrellas were hoisted, great coats buttoned close to 
the chin, and scores of poor draggle-tailed women and 
girls, with their thin-soled shoes, were paddling along 
the sloppy pavements. The docUs are not impioved in 
their appearance b}^ bad weather ; and at this moment, 
the very po iters linger, to avoid the wet skin that awaits 
them should they go forth, 

I remember being present at the opening of St. Kath- 
arine's Docks, certainly one of the liveliest scenes on 
which I ever gazed. The quays and windows of the 
various warehouses were thronged with goodly specta 
tors ; while the vessels, showing the flags of all nations, 
and hung with pendants and streamers of all colours, 
passed proudly into the capacious basin. Every yard 



236 THE DOCKS. 

was manned with sailors, at every mast-head sat a blue 
jacket, and every deck was crowded with well-dressed 
company ; while bands of music, playing national airs, 
imparted additional life to the glowing scene. 

What a puny thing is man, compared with his own 
workmanship ! Look at the broad, bulging bows of 
that three-masted ship near the quay ! Regard her 
prow, figure-head, bowsprit, towering masts, and enor- 
mous yards and sails ! What an amazing hulk ! And 
yet the whole navy of the world would not stand a mo- 
ment before the excited breath of the Almighty. As 
bubbles on the face of the waters would it disappear, and 
be no more seen. When a ship quits the shore, it is 
not the strength of her timbers that will insure her re- 
turn : she is in the hands of God alone. How infinite 
art thou, O God, in thy power, thy wisdom, and thy 
goodness! The sun in his brightness proclaims thy 
glory by day, and by night 

"A million torches, lighted by thy hand, 

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; 
They own thy power, accomplish thy command ; 

All gay with life, all elocjuent with bliss. 
What shall we call them 1 Piles of crystal light — 

A glorious company of golden streams — 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 

Suns lighting systems with their Joyous beams : 
But thou to these art as the moon to night ; 

Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea, 
All this magnificence in thee is lost : 

What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee? 
And what am I, then ? Heaven's unnumber'd host, 

Though multiplied ty millions, and array'd 
In all the glory of sublimes! thought, 

Is but an atom in the balance, weigh'd 
Again thy greatness ! is a cij)her brought, 

Against infinity ! Oh what am I, then? Nought !" 



SIR JOHN soane's museum. 237 



SIR JOHN SOANE'S MUSEUM. 

The Lincoln's Inn FielJs Museum, established by 
sir John Soane, has much to recommend it to public at- 
tention ; and those who love curiosities and works of 
art, and have leisure as well as inclination to gratify 
themselves, will be amply rewarded in visiting its costly 
stores. 

The museum consists of a considerable collection of 
sculpture, paintings, sarcophagi, medals, casts, vases, 
terracottas, bronzes, Gothic fragments, drawings, en- 
gravings, etchings, cabinets, carvings, gems, cameos, 
intaglios, and other curiosities. The general appear- 
ance of the several chambers of the institution will ap- 
pear contracted in the eye of those who forget they are 
looking on what was the private residence of an indivi- 
dual artist, though now it has become a public institu- 
tion. 

I have paused a moment on the ancient Gothic cor- 
bels that adorn the front of the building. I have gazed 
on the porphyry-painted walls, casts, and reliefs of the 
entrance-hall and recess; and am now standing beneath 
the south central compartment of the painted ceiling in 
the dining-room and library. 

If the first pleasure in gazing on a work of art arises 
from a keen conception of its beauties, the next in order 
certainly springs from a detection of its defects. Indeed, 
I somewhat fear tliat, in our unamiable moods, this or- 
der is not un frequently reversed, and that we see more 
distinctly the faulty than the faultless parts of what is 
submitted to our observation. 

That the very inconsiderable elevation of the ceilinfr 



238 SIR JOHN soane's museum. 

sadly injures the effect of the paintings thereon, must 
strike every beholder. The subject of " Phebus in his 
car, preceded by Aurora, and the Morning Star led on 
by the Hours, with the Zephyrs sporting in his train,'' 
appears to require space. The \'isitor is not prepared 
to find himself so near the celestial group, supposed to 
be careering the elevated heavens. Not willingly 
would I run the risk of affecting to be overwise in such 
matters ; but to me it does appear that altitude is indis- 
pensable to a painted ceiling, and especially when the 
subject is an ethereal one. 

The whole of the ceiling-paintings, Phebus in his 
car, Pandora and the assembled gods and goddesses, the 
Seasons, Night with the Pleiades, Epimetheus receiving- 
Pandora, and the Opening of the Vase, are by Henry 
Howard, r. a. Antique busts, Greek and Etruscan 
vases, inlaid marble, mirrors, bronzes, books, and 
painted glass, are around me. That astronomical clock 
of Raingo of Paris is a real curiosity, and yonder model 
of the Corinthian order is excellent. The painting by 
sir Joshua Reynolds, the Snake in the Grass, is de- 
servedly a favourite : it cost somewhat more than five 
hundred guineas. The painting over the chimney- 
piece has a double claim on public attention, from the 
circumstance of its being not only a portrait of the 
founder of this museum, but also one of the last produc- 
tions of sir Joshua's pencil. 

I have not passed without a pause the model of the 
monument ercct^^d over the tomb where the dust of sir 
John Soane now reposes, in the burial-ground of St. 
Giles' -in-the-Fields, at St. Pancras. The monument 
was erected to the memory of Elizabeth, sir John's 
wife ; but since then, the donor of this princely collcc- 



SIR JOHN SOANe's MUSEUM. 239 

tion of curiosities has been borne to the same burial- 
place. A man has but a life-interest in his own free- 
hold. If rich, he may found an establishment that may- 
endure for ages, but he himself must withdraw. " To- 
morrow" is a period too distant for him to calculate upon 
it with certainty. 

"How poor, how rich ; how abject, how august ; 
How comphcate ; how wonderful is man !" 

The little study contains works of art, and some 
curious natural productions. Among the latter, the 
large fungus from Sumatra arrests the eye of the 
visitor. In the dressing-room and recess are various 
curiosities : the sulphur casts from gems, the engrav- 
ings of Hogarth, and the drawings by Mortimer and 
Canaletti, are all deserving of attention. 

The models, the casts, the terracottas, and the mar- 
ble fragments in the corridor, ought not to be passed 
by hastily. To accustom the eye to forms of grace 
and beauty, and to become familiar with works of ex- 
cellence, is to elevate our standard in matters of taste. 
He who has made acquaintance with the ancient masters 
will be somewhat fastidious as to the moderns. An in- 
stance of the advantage to be derived from a careful 
observation of what is excellent in art I will here note 
down. 

I have just heard a remark fall from a visitor, while 
conversing with the curator of the museum, in re- 
ference to a graceful branch on a cast against the wall, 
now before me. " Years ago," said he, " the elegance 
of that branch caught my attention when you favoured 
me with a private admission to this place ; and since 
then, making that branch my model, I have almost in- 
undated, the country with, confessedly, one of the most 



240 

elegant articles of brass furniture that ever was made 
with hands." The speaker had a British broad back 
and chest, and was evidently " well to do." The ener- 
gy of his eye bespoke the fact, that what he undertook 
he would execute ; and I dare say, that the branch in 
question has not been the only specimen of excellence 
in this museum that he has found serviceable. 

Having looked over the extended collection of wood 
models and architectural drawings, as well as the other 
works of art in the students' room, I have entered the 
picture-room, and am agreeably surprised both at the 
extent and costliness of the paintings it contains. That 
a chamber, only about thirteen or fourteen feet long, 
something less than this in breadth, and between nine- 
teen and tAA^enty feet high, should, by any contrivance, 
be made to exhibit such a collection, cannot but call 
forth the admiration of the spectator. The room has 
cabinets on the north and west sides, and movable planes 
on the south, with spaces between for pictures. 

I was not aware, before I entered the place, that the 
museum was so rich in the works of Hogarth. Why, 
here are twelve of his best paintings. The Rake's 
Progress, consisting of eight ; and the Election, of 
four ! By the kindness of the curator, I have been 
lingering here a long time. A good painting is a feast 
to me ; and a feast is never relished the less because it 
is spread before us unexpectedly. It is saying but little 
to acknowledge that I have been highly gratified. 

So general a thing it is, when speaking of Hogarth, 
to allude to the excellent moral of his pictures, that I 
really wish to believe the morality of his paintings was 
a thing near his heart. The occasional freedoms of his 
pencil are a little at variance with this position ; but it 



SIR JOHN SOANE's MUSEUM. 241 

will not become us to comment thereon with se\-erity. 
We know that he was a great painter, and that the 
works of his hands have afforded much pleasure, and 
called forth deserved admiration ; and knowing this, let 
us hope that, while he sought reputation, he wished not 
only to give pleasure, but also to do good. 

Besides the paintings of Hogarth, which are splendid 
works of art, 1650 guineas having been given for four 
of them alone, there are excellent pictures here by Ca- 
naletti, and other great masters. 

So long have I lingered in the picture-room, that a 
glance is all that I have given to the monk's parloir 
and oratory, corridor, ante-room, and catacombs. Casts, 
carvings, and painted glass, architectural drawings, Pe- 
ru vases from the burial-places of the aboriginal Indians, 
busts, medallions, plasters, and bas-reliefs, would afford 
occupation for hours to a visitor of leisure. The model 
of Stonehenge in cork will be interesting to those who 
have not seen the original. 

In the ante-room is a bas-relief, by T. Banks, of the 
Angel opening the door of St. Peter's prison. It affords 
us a subject of serious thought, and forces on the mind 
the power and goodness of God exercised in behalf of 
those who trust in him. 

The Egyytian sarcophagus, discovered by Belzoni, 
in a tomb in the valley of Beban el Malook, near Gour- 
nou, is a splendid specimen of art. It is now before me, 
standing as I am in the sepulchral chamber ; and here 
could I stand for hours, without wishing to quit the spot. 
The living can never go where there is nothing to re- 
mind them of death.. This sarcophagus speaks of so- 
lemn things. Others more mighty than thee have died ; 
art thou prepared? What is the hope set before thee? 
21 



242 SIR JOHN soane's museum. 

Before I came to the museum, I pored for an hour 
over the . Phonetic alphabet, and the newly discovered 
mode of reading hieroglyphics ; and picked up just 
sufficient information to confuse me, and to excite my 
wonder and curiosity : but, really, this sarcophagus is 
a magnificent affair. It is thus described by Belzoni : — 

" What we found in the centre of the saloon merits 
the most particular attention, not having its equal in the 
world, and being such as we had no idea could exist. 
It is a sarcophagus of the finest alabaster, and is trans- 
parent when a light is placed in the inside of it. It is 
minutely sculptured, within and without, with several 
hundred figures, which do not exceed two inches in 
height ; and represent, as I suppose, the whole of the 
funeral procession and ceremonies relating to the de- 
ceased, united with several emblems, etc. I cannot give 
an adequate idea of this beautiful and invaluable piece 
of antiquity ; and can only say, that nothing has been 
brought into Europe from Egypt that can be compared 
Avith it. The cover was not there : it had been taken 
out, and broken into several pieces, which we found in 
digging before the first entrance." 

The cost of this unequalled sarcophagus was two 
thousand pounds ; but though it is so elaborately covered 
with hieroglyphics, containing, no doubt, the whole his- 
tory of its use, and some particulars of the monarch 
whose mouldering dust found therein a resting-place, 
yet there is a doubt on both these points. Dr. Young, 
when it was first discovered, considered it to be the tomb 
of Psammis ; Champollion assigned it to Mandonei, or 
Ousirei ; Rossellini to Menephtah, who reigned 1580 
years before the Christian era ; while sir Gardner 
Wilkinson believes that it never contained a body, being 



SIR JOHN SOANE S MUSEUM. 243 

the cenotaph, or monument, of one buried elsewhere — 
of Osirea, or Oei, the father of Rameses the Great, 
whose victories are duly chronicled on the walls of the 
great temple of Ammon, at Thebes. We gaze with 
more astonishment on a work of art which existed be- 
fore Moses the lawgiver and Aaron the highpriest, w^ere 
at the head of the Jewish nation, than we do at the sun, 
moon, and stars, which have shone in the heavens ever 
since their creation. The sarcophagus, or cenotaph of 
a monarch, be it which it may, could not preserve from 
ruin the royal dust it contained, or commemorated. 

" Earth's highest station ends in ' Here he lies !' 
And ' Dust to dust' concludes her noblest song." 

The crypt, with its cork models of ancient tombs and 
sepulchral chambers, the ground-floor of the museum 
under the students' room, and the gallery under the 
dome, as well as the lobby and breakfast-room, with 
their endless groups, statues, models, casts, busts, marble 
fragments, capitals, and architectural ornaments, deserve 
much more attention than I have bestowed on them. 
One of the disadvantages of profusion, even in works of 
excellence, is satiety. After gazing on diamonds for 
an hour, we should find it 'a relief to look on pebble 
stones. 

I have seen the winged Victory, by Flaxman, the 
sulphur-casts, the drawings of ancient ceilings, and the 
richly mounted pistol, said to have been taken by Peter 
the Great, from the Bey, commander of the Turkish 
army, at Azof, 1695, and presented by Alexander i., 
emperor of Russia, to the emperor Napoleon, at the 
treaty of Tilsit, in 1 807. It is, whoever took it, or who- 
ever presented it, a most costly pie^'e of workmanship ; 
though its appearance is far too modern for a careful 



244 SIR JOHN SLOANE S MUSEL'M. 

observer not to call in question the ancient date assigned 
to it. 

The staircase, the Shakspeare recess, and the south 
and north drawing-rooms, have their several attractions ; 
and the Tivoli recess, the morning room, and the model 
room, and recess, are well supplied with stores of art, 
for the gratification of the virtuoso and visitor of leisure. 
I have been most struck with the drawings, etchings, 
medals, and engravings. The number of these is great, 
and many of them are beautiful. The ivory table, 
richly carved and gilded, and the ivory chairs around it, 
possess an interest beyond that arising from the excel- 
lency of their workmanship. They were formerly in 
the royal palace of Tippoo Saib, at Seringapatam. 
Thus the sword of war disperses what the hand of 
power collects together. 

What a profusion of paintings, drawings, etchings, 
engravings, miniatures, sculpture, busts, models, casts, 
medals, medallions, vases, bronzes, terracottas, gems, 
cameos, intaglios, fragments, and other curiosities, have 
I passed without notice ! A few hours have been spent 
pleasantly ; and I feel grateful that such depositories of 
costly things are so easy of access ! To such as would 
inspect, in a small space, a great collection of works of 
art and virtu, sir John Soane's Museum will afford 
much interest and pleasure. 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

Hardly ever do I feel myself in so peaceful a frame 
of mind as when musing in the resting-places of the 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 245 

dead. The green hillocks and the grave-stones are fit 
objects for an old man to regard ; and sin and death, and 
time and eternity, are suitable subjects for his reflec- 
tions. 

Sin and sorrow may be called twins, for they both 
appear to have entered the world together ; and if they 
are not always seen walking side by side, the latter is 
continually found to be treading on the heels of the for- 
mer. No sooner did our first parents sin, than they hid 
themselves, through fear, from the presence of the Lord. 
No sooner did they forfeit paradise by transgression, 
than the sentence of death was passed upon them ; 
" Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return," Gen. 
iii. 19. Truly, indeed, it is said in Holy Writ, " The 
wages of sin is death," Rom. vi. 23. 

And ever since those earlier days, have feebleness 
and strength, age and youth, gone down to the grave : 
we hear not only, but see, the humiliation of mortal 
man. '• One dieth in his full strength, being wholly at 
ease and quiet ; another dieth in the bitterness of his 
soul," Job xxi. 23, 25. And thus will it be with the 
goodliest and greatest, the mightiest and the meanest, 
until death shall be swallowed up in victory. " They 
shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall 
cover them," Job xxi. 26. 

Under this general sentence of death, the committal 
of the lifeless body to the ground becomes a matter of 
importance. Where the inhabitants of the world are 
few, the burial of the dead is attended with little difli- 
culty. The wilderness and solitary place of the savage, 
and the retired villages of civilized life, are differently 
situated, in this respect, to the populous town and 

crowded city. In the latter, sad spectacles are often 
2T* 



246 THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

seen, and fearful consequences frequently follow the un- 
healthy accumulation of the remains of the dead. From 
these evils, the establishment of cemeteries, somewhat 
remote from the busy haunts of men, appears to be the 
simplest, if not the only cure. 

A brief sketch of the cemeteries of modern London 
may not be unwelcome ; but as part of them are as yet 
but imperfectly formed, it would be time thrown away 
to dwell upon them. The crowded graves, the grass- 
less ground, the reposeless publicity, the noxious va- 
pours and objectionable sights of city churchyards, have 
long cried aloud for a more decorous and desirable in- 
terment of the dead. 

The cemetery at Stoke Newington is regarded by 
many with much interest, from the circumstance of its 
being formed in Abney Park, where Dr. Watts so often 
strolled, while residing, for thirty-six years, in the hos- 
pitable mansion of sir Thomas Abney and his excellent 
family. 

I was walking slowly from grave to grave, in this 
cemetery, a short time ago, meditating somewhat mourn- 
fully on the past. All at once joyous sounds burst 
upon me. I had approached the large cedar tree, 
which lifts its head so high, and spreads so widely its 
dark and gloomy branches, in the upper part of the 
cemetery ; and, judging from the fluttering among the 
boughs in every part, as well as from the goodly chorus 
that regaled my ears, at least a hundred of the feathered 
race were holding a jubilee of joy among the shadowy 
recesses of that aged tree. 

There are few things, when the heart is sad, more 
afflictive to the spirit, than the sound of mirth and revelry 
from human beings. Music, and songs, and laughter, 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 247 

make the sad heart sadder than ever ; but this is not the 
case with the music and songs of the feathered creation. 
In sorrow, we are rather soothed than afflicted by the 
warbling of birds. I found it so. From the graves my 
eyes were raised to the branches of the old cedar tree, 
and thence to the clear, blue, bright sky, and my 
thoughts went upwards to that heaven where neither 
sin nor sorrow are allowed to enter. 

AVhen I walked slowly among the graves, my re- 
flections were mournful. " Dust thou art, and unto 
dust shalt thou return " " We spend our years as a 
tale that is told." " We must needs die, and are as 
water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up 
again." " Man dieth, and wasteth away ; yea, man 
giveth up the ghost, and where is he?" But after I 
had heard the happy birds in the cedar tree, my thoughts 
took a contented, a hopeful, and a joyous turn. " It is 
the Lord ; let him do what seemeth him good." " There 
remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God." " I 
shall be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness." 
" Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord." " God 
will redeem my soul from the power of the grave ; for 
he shall receive me." Mourner, whoever thou art, 
He who can make the shadowy branches of the dark- 
est tree in a burial-ground vocal with joy and gladness, 
can animate thy spirit in the darkest hour, filling thy 
heart with thanksgiving, and thy mouth with praise. 
» ^ * * * * 

At last I have arrived at Old Brompton. This West 
of London and Westminster Cemetery differs consider- 
ably from all the modern burial-places around the metro- 
polis. Solidity, strength, and durability are the most 
Striking features of the building, which occupies, with 



248 THE CEMETERIES OF LONl ON. 

its dome and extended architecture, the central front of 
the southern end of the enclosure. 

As I entered the cemetery by the lod~*^ on the north, 
an attendant, in his official costume, followed me, re- 
spectfully proflering me a ground plan -of the place, 
with a neat little book, ornamented on the outside with 
a gilt urn and weeping willow. The ground plan fur- 
nishes me with the regulations of burial, t^^gether with 
a table of charges and fees ; and the little b^ok tells me 
that Mr. Baud is the architect ; that " the ground is 
laid out in the Italian style ;" that " the arc} itecture of 
the building is Roman Doric ;" and that the enclosure 
" contains about forty acres." Akogether, thij is an im- 
posing place ; and as I musingly pace alon* ^ts differ- 
ent walks, the same reflection which has h^c^ called 
forth by other cemeteries presses itself on my n-md, 

" W^lo would laj- 
His body in the city burijil-phice, 
To be thrown up agnin by some rude sexton, 
And yield its narrow house another tenant," 

who could avail himself of a more decorous rrsting- 
place ? That it matters but little — nay, that it v, ill mat- 
ter nothing to us after death, what may become of our 
poor perishing bodies, must be at once concede*"' ; but 
the consideration of it matters something to us wh'le we 
are alive, and may be a point not altogether unii-«por- 
tant to our friends, when we shall be numbered \vith 
the dead. I love the solemnity of a common chvTch- 
yard better than I do the more attractive appearance of 
a cemetery ; but an overcrowded, unsightly, and us- 
gusting churchyard is shocking even to contemplate. 

The enclosure aroimd me at present depends more •^'Q 
Its buildings, and less on its ground^ than any ce^; "• 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 249 

tery I have seen. It has neither eminences nor trees 
of any magnitude. In the latter respect, a little time 
may produce a great change. The broad walk over 
ihe catacombs on the west, and the promenade on the 
eastern terrace, afford some little relief, by their slight 
elevation, to the generally flat appearance of the ground. 

I must not tarry to muse on the monuments, and pon- 
der on the humbler memorials of the dead, though so- 
lemn thoughts are gathering around me. Enough, 
that here reposes the dust of my fellow-beings, awaiting 
the grave-rending blast of the archangel's trumpet. 

There are those who, on comparing the different cem- 
eteries of London, give this the preference ; thinking 
that its elegant entrance-lodge, its grand avenue of limes 
and sycamores, though the trees are yet small, its chaste 
and beautiful Protestant chapel, its great circle, three 
hundred feet in diameter, of arcades and catacombs, with 
its mausoleums, and other attractions and advantages, 
constitute it the most beautiful cemetery of the metropo- 
lis, and the best adapted to the purpose for which it was 
designed. 

***** 

The General Cemetery at Kensal Green, on the 
Harrow-road, is a mile and a half from Paddington. 
1 have just passed through its archway entrance. The 
forty-six acres now lying before me, form, for the most 
past, a gentle slope; the south part, bounded by the 
canal, being lower than the north. The ground is un- 
equally divided ; and the eastern, or lesser division, of 
four or five acres, is not consecrated. There are two 
chapels, one in each division ; that in the western, with 
its colonnades and catacombs, is on a larger scale than 
the other. 



250 THE CEMETERIES OP LONDON. 

The lofty surrounding wall, occasionally lightened 
and diversified with iron railing, has an imposing ef- 
fect, and the trees, shrubs, and flowers look fresh ; but 
this unconsecrated part of the cemetery, where I now am, 
has not, at present, many memorials of the dead. In a 
few years there will be a change in this respect, and the 
centre space, now undiversified with a single tomb, will 
doubtless be studded over with the sculptured records 
of death's achievements. One of the most striking ob- 
jects now before me is an elderberry bush in full flower, 
standing like the guardian of the grave over which it is 
planted. 

. Hei^ and there a name that looks strange to an Eng- 
lish eye arrests my attention. "Elie Ruflin," from 
Switzerland ; '• Josephine Lach Szyrma," a dutiful 
daughter of Poland ; with " Charles Raqueiller," and 
" Stanislas Michael Albert Ratajski," the children of 
Polish refugees. Thus it is that the inhabitants of one 
country find a resting-place for their mouldering remains 
in another. Already, in this extended cemetery, the re- 
mains of mortal men from the four quarters of the earth 
repose. They " slumber side by side, and the whirl- 
wind cannot wake them." 

I have passed the line of demarcation which divides 
the cemetery. The birds are singing, the branches of 
the trees are bending to and fro, the leaves are rustling, 
and the breeze is gently breathing around. Hark ! 
what a sudden and boisterous inbreak there is amid the 
comparative quietude of the place. It is the impatient 
panting of a steam-carriage, hurrying along the adjoin- 
ing railroad ; and now the loud whistle, or rather the 
wild war-whoop-like scream, that gives notice of its 
arrival, is sounding shrill in my ears. Noisy, active 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 251 

iife, and silent, motionless death, are dividing my atten- 
tion. 

There is hardly a passage in Holy Scripture more 
frequently misunderstood and misquoted than that in the 
fourth chapter of the first Epistle of Peter, " Charity 
shall cover the multitude of sins." Instead of charity 
being set forth as the love and mercy that would willing- 
ly cover the faults of others, it is usually represented as 
a quality which will cover over, and atone for, the sins 
of its possessor. The pyramidic monument beside me 
is another instance of this misconception. It tells the 
reader that he whose dust lies beneath it was " renowned 
for his charity, which did not cover a multitude of 
sins, but only heightened many virtues." A miscon- 
ception on the part of another should make us doubly 
circumspect ourselves, lest we should fall into yet 
greater errors. " Open thou mine eyes, that I may be- 
hold wondrous things out of thy law. Give me under- 
standing, and I shall keep thy law," Psa. cxix. 18, 34. 

The sun is shining, the clouds are sailing along the 
skies, and a profusion of trees of various kinds, with 
shrubs and flowers ornamenting the sides of the ceme- 
tery, as well as the different parts where the monuments 
abound, by turns attract my eye. Within a few feet 
of the spot where I am standing, moulders the dust of 
one of the companions of my earlier days. I saw 
him committed to the tomb. He was my junior, yet 
here am I musing over his grave. " Lord, make me 
to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what 
it is ; that I may know how frail I am," Psa. xxxix. 4. 

The living love to honour their departed friends, by 
marking their death-stones with such information as 
they consider creditable to their memory. I have no- 



252 THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

ticed the following records of this kind in my walk 
among the tombs and catacombs : — " An eminent prin- 
ter." " Chief engineer to his highness Mohammed 
Ali Pacha." " Head Master of Reading school." 
" Some time principal store-keeper of the ordnance." 
'•' A respectable merchant." " A faithful and confiden- 
tial servant." " Inspector-general of hospitals." " A 
gallant and distinguished soldier." " Physician to 
king George iv." " Bishop of St. David's." " Author 
of the History of Sumatra." " Secretary of the Ad- 
miralty." These, and numberless other inscriptions 
appear, in which respect and affection for the dead are 
mingled with some degree of living vanity. Who is 
there among us that is quite content to be nobody and 
unknown ? 

Here is a massive granite pedestal without an in- 
scription ! What shall I write thereon ? " Here lieth 
the dust of an heir of immortality!" or, ''He went 
down to the grave an unrepentant sinner!" What a 
solemn consideration it is, that the grave can neither 
withhold the righteous from happiness, nor protect the 
wicked from unutterable woe ! 

From the colossal pillars of the portico of the chapel, 
the view of the cemetery is a sweet one, and quite in 
character. There is no affected sentimentality ; no 
littleness nor gewgaws to catch the eye. No child's 
play of making gardens, as in many parts of " Pere la 
Chaise." All is vast, sober, chaste, field-like, and beau- 
tiful ; rather sweet than romantic ; and the prospc«!t 
to the south is extensive. A cemetery should soothe 
sorrow, as well as call forth profitable reflection. 
Judging by my present feelings, this place is calculated 
do both. 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 253 

A fluted pillar of pure marble, having the semblance 
of being suddenly broken, is meant to be symbolical of 
the sudden death of a young lady, aged twenty-five, 
who was called away from the Avorld without a mo- 
ment's warning. " Her sun went down while it was 
yet day." Reader ! when thou hearest that a fellow 
mortal has been suddenly plunged into eternity, think 
of the mercy that has spared thee. 

A painter, engaged in bronzing the iron palisades of 
a monument, has conceded to me, though somewhat un- 
willingly, that the gates of Hyde Park, near Apsley- 
house, are bronzed " pretty well." He has just given 
me his card, that in case I should want anything in his 
way, he may have the pleasure of serving me in a su- 
perior manner. 

In another part of the grounds, observing a young 
man at woru', coating over the sculptured letters on a 
marble tomb with size, before painting them black, I 
remarked to him, " Why, that must be double trouble." 
<' Yes, it is, sir," said he, with a black look, " but my 

master " here the sudden appearance of his master 

prevented him from finishing the sentence ; otherwise, 
he would no doubt have informed me, that his master 
was an unreasonable man, who cared nothing about 
the double trouble of his journeyman, for he never paid 
him for it. Oh the world ! the world ! With masters 
and servants, self-interest is as lynx-eyed in a burial- 
ground as at the Stock Exchange. 

Here and there is an inscription to an only child. 
Oh! what love, what loneliness, what agony, does that 
word onhj represent ! 

The colonnade of Grecian architecture on the north 
side is sure to attract the eye, and draw the feet of the 
22 



254 THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

visitor to the place, either before or after he has exam- 
ined the chapel. There are catacombs in which two 
thousand coffins may rest undisturbed ; and the number 
of monuments already erected is considerable. The 
north side of the cemetery is much more thickly peo- 
pled with the dead than any other part, probably on ac- 
count of its elevated situation. 

Death is indeed no respecter of persons : the infant 
and the aged are sleeping beneath my feet. 

There is the last house of Morrison, the hygeist, the 
celebrated vender of pills ; and yonder is the high- 
erected monument of John St. John Long, no less fa- 
mous than the former personage for the peculiarity of 
his medical practice. 

# * « # # 

And this is Norwood ! Green fields, grassy slopes, 
woods, and handsome mansions in the distance ; and 
here is the goodly cemetery of forty acres, which has 
drawn me from the busy city whose cathedral is visible 
from this place. 

I have stepped into the entrance-lodge, and turned 
over the ample leaves of the great parchment book, 
whose pages, formed into squares, correspond, on a min- 
iature scale, with the forty acres of burial ground im- 
mediately around me. Every tree within my .view 
seems to flourish but the cypress. From this spot I 
can count five cypress trees, absoluely withered from 
their natural green colour to a ruddy brown. 

The monuments of the dead are at present few ; and 
the cemetery presents that retired, grassy, leafy, flowery 
appearance, which canopied by the clear blue sky, 
and breathed on by the balmy air, is truly delightful. 
Unconsciously, I have been indulging one of those 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 255 

musing, dreamy abstractions in which we become 
posthumous. I have been fancying that my faded bo- 
dy lay beneath the turf, at the foot of the hill there ; 
that the sun was gomg down ; and that a friend was 
just plucking a flower from the grave of old Hum- 
phrey. 

A gravel walk is the only barrier between the conse- 
crated and the unconsecrated parts of the ground ; and 
as a spectator gazes on the broad acres in the centre, 
unbroken by a grave, and studded over with myriads 
of daisies, he can hardly persuade himself that he is in 
a place of sepulture. Seventy thousand pounds have 
already been expended to render the place worthy the 
patronage of the public ; and certainly great praise is 
due to both architect and landscape gardener. 

But pleasant as this place is, the thought intrudes, 
what chequered scenes are yet to be passed through by 
those whose bodies will here be deposited ! what hopes 
and fears ! what joys and sorrows ! Will they thought- 
lessly live and die without God in the world ? or will 
they finish their course with joy, and find the end there- 
of eternal life ? There is no peace to the wicked ; but 
the humble Christian, whose faith is in lively exercise 
has peace at the last. 

A thousand fears of dreadful name 

Ungodly men surprise ; 
But oh, in what a peaceful frame 

The pardon'd sinner dies ! 
With glory shining round his head, 

And sunbeams on his breast, 
He lays him calmly on his bed, 

And smiling sinks to rest. 

The episcopal-looking chapel, with its octagonal tow 
'jrs, on the brow of the hill, fronting the west, has a fine 
effect ; and that facing tbe north-west is little inferior to 



256 THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

it. They are built with the Suffolk white brick, and 
have a chaste and cleanly appearance. The high 
boundary wall and palisades that enclose the cemetery 
must have been very costly. Here is a heap of clayey 
soil, recently thrown up from a depth of twenty feet, and 
yet it is stiff and dry. We carry with us our notions of 
comfort even in thinking- of the grave, and thus a dry 
soil is indispensable for a burial-ground. 

I have passed through the chapels, and descended 
to the vaults below them, the silent receptacles of the 
dead. The chapels are plain, but in excellent keeping. 
Many would like some stained glass in the large win- 
dow, and I should have no objection to a little drapery 
round it to increase the solemnity of the place j but 
these things are not important, and can be dispensed 
with. The manner of lowering the coffins into the 
vaults, (by means of a piston working in water under- 
neath the chapel,) must have a striking effect on those 
who have never witnessed any thing of the kind. 
While the mourners, who have attended the solemn ser- 
vice for the dead, are yet gazing, with eyes half blinded 
with tears, on the coffin that contains the body of the 
departed, the elevated bier, or stand, on which it lies, 
begins slowly and noislessly to sink, without any appa- 
rent agency. The astonished spectator can hardly be- 
lieve his senses : yet lower and lower the coffin descends, 
until it altogether disappears. The service is very sol- 
emnly and impressively performed. I am told, that at 
a funeral, a few days ago, in an assembly of at least a 
hundred persons, scarcely was a dry eye seen in the 
chapel. 

While walking in the grounds, the sound of youthful 
voices reaches me. The boys of the neighbouring 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 257 

fcchool, near the entrance of the cemetery, have rushed 
into their play-ground ; and all is liberty, and life, and 
merriment. Happy boyhood ! The cares of the world 
lig-ht not on thy joyous brow, nor do its manifold sor- 
rows rest more than a moment on thy heart. 

Thy life is all to-day, and in thy gladness 

Thou caust not see nor feel to morrow's sadness. 

As I leave the cemetery, a flood of light is pouring- 
down from the south-west on the place ; and crimson 
and gold, and an unbearable blaze of glory, mark where 
the declining sun is careering along the skies. Let me 
bear in mind, that whether the last house is shrouded 
with gloom or gilt with glory, the heritage of the right- 
eous is a life of peace, a death of hope and a resurrec- 
tion to eternal joy. 

I am now at Highgate, having had a pleasant walk 
here from Highbury with a friend. Part of the road 
has been along retired lanes, and the other part mostly 
across green fields ; the pure breath of heaven has blown 
around us, the clouds have sailed along majestically 
over our heads, and varied conversation has made a 
ramble, agreeable in itself, yet more agreeable. The 
North London cemetery is before us ; and erected on its 
entrance, facing the south-east, stands an abbey-like kind 
of edifice, of miniature size, with an octangular and or- 
namental dome. In this building, which possesses 
every accommodation for the purpose, with a large room 
and private gallery for infirm mourners and invalids, 
the solemn service is performed ; a window of painted 
glass, representing the ascension of our Saviour, adorns 
its extremity, with another compartment on each side of 
it executed in colours of great beauty. But where is the 
22* 



258 THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

artist whose hand so recently called into existence these 
trophies of his skill ? Alas ! he lies motionless : his 
dust is now reposing in the cemetery. He has, no 
doubt, stood where I am standing. Doubtless, his eyes 
have sparkled with unwonted lustre while gazing on 
the luminous exhibition before me ; but now he is re- 
turned to the dust. Thus, at the very threshold of the 
cemetery, and while looking at the bright emblem of 
immortality, I am once more reminded that " there is 
but a step between me and death." 

The solemn procession of a funeral, with hearse, 
coaches, coal-black horses, and nodding plumes, gliding 
along the winding avenue of Swain's lane, shaded with 
overhanging trees, must have an imposing effect as it 
approaches the cemetery. Swain's lane runs along that 
part of Highgate hill called Traitors' hill, from the cir- 
cumstance of the confederates of Guy Faux having as- 
sembled there to await the expected explosion of the gun- 
powder placed under the Parliament house, on the 
memorable 5th of November, 1605. 

The cemetery, for the most part, is spread out before 
us. It is a steep acclivity, of some nineteen or twenty 
acres, with a surfoce beautifully varied ; now rising into 
swelling hills, bedecked with shrubs and flowers, and 
now exhibiting, on every hand, the monuments of the 
dead. Column, pyramid, sarcophagus, tomb, vase, and 
sculptured stone arrest the eye, with a gigantic mound, 
canopied with a goodly cedar; while Highgate new 
church, crowning the brow of the hill with its " heaven- 
directed spire," stands above the upper verge of this 
place of graves. Beauty and death seem to have en- 
tered into a compact together ; for while the latter delves 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 259 

freely beneath the ground, the former takes undisputed 
possession of its surface. 

Geary, the architect, and Ra.nsey, the landscape gar- 
dener, have united their talents in a very successful 
manner to decorate the cemetery; while the church 
above the grounds, a chaste Gothic building, from de- 
signs of VuUiamy, renders the picture complete. 

We have gained the rising ground approaching the 
cedar tree, and the beauties of tlie cemetery are more 
fully unfolded. Flowers in profusion are blooming in 
all directions. Mountain ashes, laburnums, sycamores, 
acacias, laurel, and rose trees, are mingled with others 
of longer growth. The decorated resting-places of the 
dead, set forth the attention of their surviving friends ; 
and the gay colours of the rose, the geranium, and the 
poppy, contrast the dark hue of the cypress : hearts-ease 
has been freely planted in the shadow of the tomb, and 
its deep purple flowers are grateful to the gaze. These 
flowers spread cheerfulness around them, and breathe 
of hope and expectation. 

As I glance around, I see strangers, young, middle- 
aged, and old, visiting the different parts of the ceme- 
tery ; and yonder is a matron habited in sable, musing 
over a graven stone. Not only do the sculptured 
stones remind me of the brevity of life, but other sym- 
bols of mortality are numerous. Sere leaves sprinkle 
the pathway ; flided flowrets are drooping in the sun- 
shine ; and at my feet lies a hillock of withered grass, 
that the scythe of the mower has cut down in its 
prime. 

In the north-west part of the heavens, a thunder 
storm seems brooding in the air ; for the dark clouds 
are rolled together, in heavy masses, clothing with so- 



260 THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

lemnity the clear azure beyond them, while gleams of 
sunshine only render the frowning sky more awfiiJL 
My companion is gazing upwards at the burdened 
heavens with some anxiety ; it becomes doubtful whe- 
ther we shall escape the drenching deluge. What 
varied emotions enter the mind in such a scene as 
this, dividing our thought between the living and the 
dead! 

The thundercloud has dispersed itself, and travelled 
onwards. We must now enter the Egyptian avenue ; 
the ponderous cornice, the obelisks and pillars, the 
angular entrance, and the flying serpent, are all in 
excellent keeping with the place. We are now among 
the cedars of Lebanon ; talking of ancient Egypt ; of 
the Pharaohs of old ; of the custom of embalming ; 
of Belzoni, and the mummy pits of Gournou. This 
is a striking scene ; the catacombs below, the dark 
resting-places of the dead, are in strong contrast with 
the roses seen on the circular garden above them ; the 
cedar is fresh and beautiful, and spreads its flat, flaky 
foliage luxuriantly abroad. 

Now, if it were necessary, but it is not, I would put 
it on record, for the guidance of those who may survive 
me when I go the way of all flesh, " Lay not my body 
in the catacombs, but place it among kindred dust, 
and cover it with the green sod on which a daisy may 
bloom." 

We have mounted to the brow of the hill, and are 
standing between the church and the cemetery, looking 
down on the Gothic terrace, the Egyptian avenue, and 
the cedar circle of catacombs. The garden of death 
is now plainly seen in its length and its breadth ; masses 
of elms and other trees beautify the surrounding fields; 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 261 

and London is in the distance, stretching itself right 
and left, with Greenwich and the country towards 
Gravescnd far beyond. 

The public buildings of the city, the travelling steam- 
carriages of the neighbouring railroad, and the arriving 
visitors at the cemetery, all speak of busy life : while 
every foot of the broad acres in the foreground is dedi- 
cated to death. 

The cemeteries of the metropolis may be said to min- 
gle the character of the British churchyard with that 
of Pere la Chaise in Paris ; being neither so monoto- 
nously solemn as the former, nor so artificial, sentimen- 
tal, and romantic as the latter. They are entitled to a 
perambulator's consideration, providing, as they do, 
suitable resting-places for the dead, sufficiently removed 
from the habitations of the living. It is almost impos- 
sible to muse among these flower gardens of the grave, 
without connecting them with some undefined emotions 
of our approaching dissolution. 

We are now quitting, with some reluctance, a spot 
that death will render doubly dear to many a mourner 
as the sun runs his annual career. And shall the dead 
indeed be raised incorruptible ? Shall the disunited 
atoms of the departed again assume form and comeli- 
ness ? Yes ! 

God form'd fhem from the dust, and He once more 
Will give them strength and beauty as before, 
Though strewn as widely as the desert air;— 
As winds can waft them, or as waters bear. 

How cheering, how animating, how heart-reviving 
are the words of the Redeemer, " I am the resurrection 
and the life : he that believeth in me, though he were 
dead, yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth and be- 
lieveth in me shall never die !" John xi. 25, 26. Happy, 



262 THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 

indeed, is he who can say, in the language of exultation, 
nothing doubting, " I know that my Redeemer liveth, 
and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth : 
and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet 
in my flesh shall I see God : whom I shall see for my- 
self, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another," Job 
xix. 25—27. 

* # # # # 

This Nunhead Cemetery of All Saints, occupies a 
commanding site between Peckham and the Kent road, 
sloping down to the east, north, and south-west, at a dis- 
tance of some three or four miles from London, and, 
though far from being completed, gives a fair promise 
of equaling those which have already won the public 
approbation. It is the largest of all the cemeteries, com- 
prising at least fifty acres. 

In walking to this place I observed, on a neighbour- 
ing hill, a singular-looking erection, and the grave- 
digger, who is even now, with an assistant, preparing a 
" narrow house" for an inanimate tenant, tells me it is a 
telegraph. Fleet and mysterious herald, what tidings 
bring ye ? What news bear ye onward to the " mart 
of all the earth ?" Is it weal or woe ? Are ye the 
messenger of good or of evil ? Ye do well to outstrip the 
winds in your course, for man is hastening on to the 
tomb ; his days are fleeter than a post, yea, swifter than 
" a weaver's shuttle." 

There is a glorious view of London from this spot. 
The five oaks stretching themselves across the cemetery 
are strikingly attractive ; and when the church is 
erected on the brow of the hill yonder, it will be a 
goodly spectacle. The palisades of the boundary, 
mounting tier above tier ; the fine swell of the ground 



THE CEMETERIES OF LONDON. 263 

and commanding slope ; the groups of young trees, and 
flowers of all hues, are very imposing. In a few fleet- 
ing years the cemetery will be, indeed, an interesting 
spectacle. 

I have walked round the spacious enclosure. What 
an extended space for a grave-ground ! What a goodly 
homestead for the king of terrors ! Here seems to be 
room enough to bury us all ! At present the monuments 
are but few ; but this is a want that mortality will soon 
supply. Fever, and consumption, and death, and time, 
are industriously at w^ork. It is not to one, but to all, 
that the voice of the Eternal has gone forth : " Dust 
thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return," Gen iii. 19. 

I have just peeped into the lumber-room attached to 
the temporary church, and they that will grope in dark 
corners must expect to meet with cobwebs. What find 
I here? Nothing but emblems of mortality, spades, 
and shovels, and pickaxes, with two scythes and a sickle. 
Well ! they are in keeping with the cemetery ; and if 
the emblems of mortality abound, the consolations of 
the gospel abound also ; so that " when this corruptible 
shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall 
have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass 
the saying that is written, " Death is swallowed up in 
victory," 1 Cor. xv. 54. 



THE CHINESE COLLECTION. 

Fancy to yourself, standing by the way-side at Hyde 
Park Corner, within a bow shot of Apsley house, a 



264 THE CHINESE COLLECTION. 

showy Chinese pagoda of two stories, with green roofs, 
edged with vermilion, and supported hy vermilion pil- 
lars, hearing on its front a hieroglyphical inscription, 
signifying " ten thousand Chinese things." You enter 
the pagoda hy a flight of steps to a vestibule, and then 
ascend a larger flight, after which, pursuing your 
course along the lobby, you soon find yourself in a 
goodly apartment of a novel kind, more than two hun- 
dred feet long, broad enough and high enough to form 
a most agreeable promenade. 

Your attention is arrested by three richly-gilt colossal 
and imposing idol figures, representing " the three pre- 
cious Buddhas," or " past, present, and to come." Be- 
wildered by the novelty, lightness, beauty, richness, and 
elegance of the numberless objects that meet your gaze, 
you sit down to compose yourself, anticipating, witK 
restless pleasure, the rich treat that awaits you. 

And how comes confusedly to your memory all that 
you know of China, not unmingled with shame that 
you know so little, and recollect even that little so im- 
perfectly. You have heard China called the " celestial 
empire," and understand that it has many more than 
three hundred millions of inhabitants. You have mar- 
velled at the strange figures painted on tea chests, and 
watched the nodding mandarins in the shop of the 
grocer. You have seen Chinese puzzles, and ivory 
toys, with drawings on rice paper ; birds, and flowers, 
and representations of gathering the leaves from the tea 
plant. The names Whampoa, Macao, Pekin, and Can- 
ton, are familiar to you. You are not ignorant that a 
great wall was built by the people to keep out the Tar- 
tars ; and that Confucius was a famous Chinese philoso- 
pher. You have seen a great deal in the newspapers 



THE CHINESE COLLECTION. 265 

about Hong merchants, war junks, and the taking of 
Chusan, Ningpo, and Chinhae, and have even read 
Barrow's China, and the accounts of lord Macartney's 
and lord Amherst's embassies. Having summoned all 
this information to your aid, together with what you 
have read of missionary efforts, you prepare, book in 
hand, to make the grand tour of the Chinese Collection. 

It is a favourite plan with me, when gazing on a 
spectacle, before describing its details, to notice the effect 
of the whole. I like to know what impression is made 
by a first general glance, and to ask myself, What is it 
that I prominently see ? and what is it that I particu- 
larly feel ? Let me try to give you my first general 
impression of this collection. 

Imagine yourself to be in St. George's chapel, at 
Windsor, or rather, perhaps, in that of Henry vn., in 
Westminster Abbey, gazing on the fretwork roof, the 
painted windows, the carved stalls, and the pendant ban- 
ners, that give a gloomy glory to that goodly temple. 
And now imagine that the wand of a magician has been 
waved, suddenly altering the character of the place, 
changing the fretwork roof into a fair ceiling, hung 
with ornaments of diversified colours ; the painted win- 
dows into costly screens ; the ornamented stalls into slabs 
with Chinese inscriptions ; and the hanging banners 
into huge, highly decorated lanterns of white and green, 
and vermilion and gold ; thus, at once, transforming 
solemn, sepulchral pomp and gloomy glory, into attrac- 
tive beauty and lightsome gaiety. If you can fancy this, 
you will have before you something like the very scene 
on which I am now gazing. 

Having made a few general inquiries of the proprie- 
tor of the Collection, who happens, at the moment, to bo 
23 



266 THE CHINESE COLLECTION, 

present, and taken a giance at the whole, I must now 
enter a little more into detail. The three large idols 
are imposing- things to gaze on, being gloriously gilt 
with the finest leaf gold ; but when the thought that 
three hundred and sixty millions of people, bowing 
down to such things, comes across the mind, " how is 
the gold become dim ! how is the most find gold 
changed !" The large and elegant screens, at either 
end of the apartment, the profusion of splendid lanterns, 
with the abundance of costly porcelain, impart a charac- 
ter as pleasing as it is uncommon. 

The grave-looking mandarin of the first class, in his 
state robes, stiff with embroidery, and enormous head 
necklace ; the other mandarins, and secretary, are alto- 
gether unlike what we see among us. They appear to 
be engaged in sober trifling, and leave not on the mind 
a very favourable impression of their intellect and in- 
fluence ; but this, perhaps, is mainly owing to the appa- 
rent apathy, occasioned by want of motion, and the httle 
expression in the figures. The maxim conveyed in the 
silk, scroll on the wall is very appropriate, " A nation 
depends on faithful ministers for its tranquillity." 

The mandarins are the real nobility, or aristocracy 
of China ; for the princes, relations of the emperor, 
have little influence. The number of mandarins, 
on the civil list of the empire, is not less than fourteen 
thousand. The nominal rank of mandarins may be 
bought ; and one of the Hong merchants is said to have 
purchased his at the price of a hundred thousand dollars. 

The priest of Fo, or Buddhu, in his yellow canoni- 
cals, the priest of Taou, in full dress, with th^ gentle- 
man, an odd-looking one, certainly, in mourning of 
coarse sackcloth, are not likely to be passed by un- 



THE CHINESE COLLECTION. 267 

heeded ; neither will the Chinese soldier, in huge blue 
nankeen trowsers, nor the Tartar archer, be altogether 
disregarded. 

Judging by externals, the Chinese empire must have 
a paternal government ; for the emperor is called the 
father of the nation ; the viceroy is the father of his sa- 
trapy, or district; the mandarin is the father of the city 
he governs ; the military officer who commands, is the 
father of his soldiers ; and when an emperor dies, his 
hundreds of millions of subjects mourn for him, just 
as children do for a deceased parent. The principal 
religion of China is Buddhism, or Boodhism. No 
sabbath is observed by the Chinese. Not fewer than 
fifteen hundred temples are dedicated to Confucius, and 
more than sixty thousand pigs and rabbits are sacrificed 
every year to his memory. The standing army of the 
celestial empire is about seven hundred thousand men. 

The literary coterie, in their summer dresses, with a 
mandarin of the fourth class, in his chocolate habit, and 
cap with red fringe ; the Chinese ladies of rank, using 
the fan, preparing to smoke, and playing the guitar ; 
and the mother and boy of the middle class; afford 
striking contrasts in occupation and dress. According 
to our European impressions of beauty, the Chinese 
ladies, with all their rouge and flowers, their ^' tiny feet," 
*' willow waists," and eyes like "silver seas," are far 
from being beautiful ; yet if it be true, that they possess 
much common sense, and make devoted wives and ten- 
der mothers, it is more to their credit than to be regard- 
ed as " golden lilies" in their generation. 

The Chinese tragedian, in his splendid costume, will 
rank in the estimation of the visitor with mandarins of 
she first class, until he consults his book, and finds out 



268 THE CHINESE COLLECTION. 

that he is but an actor. The juggler is one of a large 
class in China, and no jugglers, throughout the world, 
in dexterity, and daring, surpass them. One of the re- 
corded feats of this singular class of people shall here 
be given. " Two men from Nankin appear in the 
streets of Canton ; the one places his back against a 
stone wall, or wooden fence ; the upper part of his per- 
son is divested of clothing. His associate, armed with 
a large knife, retires to a distance, say from one hundred 
to two hundred feet. At a given signal, the knife is 
thrown with an unerring aim in the direction of the 
person opposite, to within a hair's breadth of his neck, 
immediately below his ear. With such certainty of 
success is the blow aimed, and so great is the confidence 
reposed by the one in the skill of the other, that not the 
slightest uneasiness is discernible in the features of him 
whose life is a forfeit to the least deviation on the part of 
the practitioner. This feat is again and again perform- 
ed, and with similar success, only varying the direction 
of the knife to the opposite side of the neck of the ex- 
posed person, or to any other point of proximity to the 
living target, as the spectators may desire." 

The parasol there, beautifully enriched with em- 
broidery and gold thread, is one of the kind carried on 
state occasions. Parasols, umbrellas, and lanterns, are 
of very general use in China. It is said, that at the 
feast of lanterns, when a general illumination takes 
place, not less than two hundred millions of lanterns 
are blazing, at the same time, in different parts of the 
empire. 

Here are a few common life Chinese characters. 
The itinerant barber, with his shaving and clipping im- 
plements ; the spectacled shoemaker with his work- 



THE CHINESE COLLECTION. 269 

Xa ich, basket and tools ; the travelling blacksmith, with 
hi* anvil, furnace, and bellows ; and the boatwoman 
carrying her child, cannot be regarded without interest ; 
and we naturally enough compare them with those 
among us who follow the same trades. It would puz- 
zle us to accoui:rt for more than seven thousand barbers 
procurmg a livelihood in Canton alone, did we not 
Know that the head, as well as the face, is shaven in 
China, and that no Chinaman ever shaves himself 

The specimens of agricultural implements, though 
rude, are curious; they are mostly of wood, shod wuth 
iron. Agriculture is much encouraged in China. The 
emperor himself, once a year,, ploughs a piece of land, 
in imitation of the Shinnung, "the divine husbandman." 
We must not suppose that his " celestial majesty" goes 
forth into the fields like one of our English labourers, 
with his wooden bottle of drink, to do "a day's work:" 
most likely his performance is more akin to the custom 
among us, of a great person laying the first stone of a 
public building, with a mahogany mallet and silver 
trowel. Two, and sometimes three crops of rice, their 
staple grain, are grown and gathered in the year ; mil- 
let is also extensively cultivated. The two inscriptions, 
suspended in the recess, are quite in character : the one, 
" If you would be rich, rear the five domestic animals, 
namely: pigs, cows, sheep, fowls, and dogs." The 
other, " Labour induces reflection, and reflection virtue." 

The sedan scene, and the pavilion, a perfect resem- 
blance of an apartment in a wealthy Chinaman's habi- 
tation, show how diflerent to ours are the customs that 
prevail in China. How odd it would be to us, to re- 
ceive a crimson card of invitation, entreating us to be- 
stow " the illumination of our presence on (he inviterl" 
23* 



270 THE CHINESE COLLECTlOxV. 

or to be received, by our worthy Chinese host, with the 
salutation, joining his closed hands, and raising them 
three times to his head_, '' I have heretofore thought, 
with profound veneration, on youi fragrant name!" 
And how strange to be supplied with ivory chopsticks 
tipped with silver, and to have set before us, by way of 
repast, " salted earth worms," and " smoked fish," in 
porcelain saucers, " stews in bowls," " soup made of 
birds' nests," " figured pigeons' eggs cooked in gravy," 
^- balls made of sharks' fins," " sea fish, crabs, pounded 
shrimps," and " immense grubs." Such a bill of fare 
would make most of us sigh, in sincerity, for " the roast 
beef of old England." 

The model summer houses, the retail china-shop, as 
seen in the streets of Canton, and the silk mercer's shop, 
attract much attention, bringing before us, as they do, 
the manners and customs of the people ; while the in- 
finity of screens, lanterns, vases, jars, lamps, porcelain 
vessels, reckoning boards, fruit stands, flower baskets, 
lacquered boxes, incense vessels, garden pots, fans, and 
fifty other kinds of articles, demand, by their profusion, 
more than one visit from the spectator. 

The China ware, carved boats and figures, embroi- 
dered articles, dresses, silks, caps, shoes, musical in- 
struments, mineral shells, cutlery, castings, necklaces, 
specimens of ornithology, fish, insects, implements, 
books, and paintings, seem hardly to have an end. 
While the knowledge that every article on w^hich the 
eye rests is of Chinese workmanship, greatly increases 
the interest felt by the spectator. 

Many Chinese maxims bear a strong resemblance to 
the proverbs of Solomon. " Virtue is the surest road to 
longevity ; but vice meets with an early doom." " The 



THE CHINESE COLLECTION. 27 1 

fear of the Lord prolongeth days : but the years of the 
wicked shall be shortened." Prov. x. 27. 

" The heart is the fountain of life." " Out of it [the 
heart] are the issues of life," Prov. iv. 23. 

" If you love your son, give him plenty of the cud- 
gel ; if you hate your son, cram him with dainties." 
" He that spareth his rod hateth his son : but he that 
loveth him chasteneth him betimes," Prov. xii. 24. 

" A virtuous woman is a source of honour to her 
husband : a vicious one causes bun disgrace." " A 
virtuous woman is a crown to her husband: but she 
that maketh ashamed is as rottenness in his bones," 
Prov. xii. 4. 

There are the superb screens of ornamented silk, 
paintings of magnificent flowers, and rich and tasteful 
gildings. The costly cabinet from Soochow, a beauti- 
ful production of art ; several specimens of carved bam- 
boo roots, wild, uncouth, and hideous, but wondrously 
imposing. The ancient yellow vase, with the raised 
green dragon, a mythological emblem of the great dra- 
gon attempting to swallow the moon. Two figures in 
papier machee, representing priests of Fuh (priests, in- 
deed ! most people would call them "jovial old boys !") 
A splendid cameo, given to Mr. Dunn, the proprietor 
of the Collection, by Houqua, the Hong merchant. A 
large ornamental blue vase, and an elegant porcelain 
bowl of enormous size. These, and the carved and gilt 
chair of state ; the elegantly chased silver tankards ; 
the elaborately carved ivory model of a Chinese junk ; 
and the light, airy, beautiful lanterns, superbly painted^ 
and admirably ornamented and gilt, will most likely 
give as much pleasure to others as they have imparted 
to me. 



272 THE CHINESE COLLECTIOW. 

An examination of the paintings, view of Canton, 
representation of the feast of lanterns, view of Wham- 
poa reach and village, a funeral procession, painting of 
a marriage ceremony, view of Honan, picture of Macao, 
and others, will do something towards leaving a more 
favourable impression, with regard to Chinese artists, 
than that which is generally entertained. 

And now if you Avish to spend a few hours pleasant- 
ly, to correct some prejudices, and to add much to your 
knowledge of the Chinese people, of their dress, man- 
ners, customs, ingenuity, and Avorks of art, from a man- 
darin of the first class, to the blind mendicant, in his 
patched habilaments ; if leisure serves, and no duty pre- 
vents you ; if you have half-a-crown to spare for admis- 
sion, and an additional eightecn-pence or two shillings 
for a printed description of the curiosities of the place — 
you can hardly do better than to step into an omnibus, 
with a heart in love with humanity, and a spirit de- 
lighting in forbearance, and pay a visit to the Chinese 
Collection. 



THAMES TUNNEL. 

The clock has struck three, the morning is dark and 
comfortless, and I am wendmg my way to London 
bridge, where I wish to arrive while the city is asleep. 



THE THAMES RIVER, THE BRIDGES, ETC. 273 

eaid where I purpose to remain till I see the sun rejoic- 
ing in the east. 

I hear a slow, measured, heavy tread, on the opposite 
side of the road ; but it is too dark to discern a passer 
by, at sach a distance, unless he be near a gaslight. It 
is the tramp of the thick-soled, ill-made boot of a po- 
liceman : I *envy not the monotonous occupation of the 
guardians of the night. The first man I hear abroad 
is a policeman, and the first man I see is a coalheaver. 
Yonder is a covered wagon, with a double row of hoi' 
ses, about to start on its lumbering pilgrimage ; the 
driver has, at this moment, an old-fashioned stable lan- 
tern in his hand. 

Perhaps you may wonder how, it being so dark, I 
can see to make my remarks ; but I cannot see to make 
them. With my paper in one hand, and my pencil in 
another, I stop for a few moments, now and then, and 
score down my hieroglyphics in the dark, with the 
hope of being enabled to decipher them by daylight. 
There are more gaslights now, and I discern objects a 
little more plainly. " Half-past three !" That must be 
the cry of some private watchman. To hear the hour 
of the night, thus publicly announced, is now a novelty. 
The coffee-stands by the wayside have, as yet, no cus- 
tomers ; the early refreshment houses are preparing for 
their usual visitors ; and the noses of the night-cab hor- 
ses are dozingly exploring the remote recesses of their 
empty oat bags in quest of provender. Here a cat 
mews at a door, putting up her tail as I pass, and rub- 
bing her side against the panel, to obtain favour with 
me ; and there another darts suddenly forward and dis- 
appears in an instant in a cellar hole. All is quiet at 
the railway station. A poor lad has just gone by me 



274 THE RIVER THAMES, THE BRIDGES, 

« 

with a bundle in his hand. I should like to know his 
prospect for the coming day. 

Two or three of the outcasts that nightly wander the 
streets, stand together at a corner ; and now and then I 
see one standing alone, or slowly pacing her thorny 
path of wretchedness and destitution. What a price 
does the poor prodigal pay for husks ! " Truly the 
way of the transgressors is hard." 

Yonder is the Monument: a strait dark line drawn 
against the sky. The atmosphere is somewhat misty 
and comfortless, as though the air was charged with 
watery particles. My skin is cold and clammy ; and a 
chilly, faint, breakfastless feeling is creeping over me. 
Well ! here is London bridge. As I walked over it 
last night, I paused to gaze on the steam boats as they 
came up the river, or shot across it, or turned round to 
the pier, with a single light at the prow. At a distance, 
the light alone could be seen ; a solitary pilgrim gliding 
along the pathway of the waters. 

This is a noble bridge, massive and substantial ; and 
its dark, bronze-like lamp-supporters are quite in keep- 
ing with the solid parapet on which they stand. The 
deep shadows, the dark black blotches on the river, are 
vessels lying there, whose form cannot be discerned. It is 
low water, and the colliers and coal barges are resting 
on the deep mud by the side of the now motionless 
stream. The lights from Southwark bridge are reflect- 
ed in long spiral streaks of fire far down in the dark 
waters ! Hark ! the clock of St. Paul's is striking four. 
Like the clang of a huge gong, it startles the ear with 
its tremulous and brassy sound ! 

The dome of St. Paul's, the Custom-house, the Tower, 
and the top of the Monument, are not yet visible from 



AND THE THAMES TUNNEL. 275 

this place ; the darkness and the misty air alike hide 
them from the view. London is asleep, and tens of 
thousands, whose bread for the day is not yet won, are 
bound in unconscious slumber. How weak are words 
in setting forth what we owe to our great Creator, for 
the inestimable blessing of repose ! Yes ! London is 
asleep ! Industry has nearly ended, revelry has begun 
his slumber ; science is at rest ; Mammon himself is 
drowsy ; and even crime, a dear lover of darkness, 
scared at the approach of coming morn, is slinking into 
his shadowy den, lest the light of heaven should fall 
upon his face. 

As I stand musing by the centre lamps, the policeman 
passes me with his oil-skin cape upon his shoulders ; and 
the street keeper, in his blue great coat, with gilt but- 
tons, and red collar, wondering, no doubt, what a man 
can have to do with pencil and paper at this untimely 
hour. Now and then distant sounds reach my ears ; 
but the big heart of London is still at rest. These rum- 
bling sounds, not those of busy, wakeful life, are as it 
were, the breathing of the yawning giant as he tosses 
and turns himself in his slumber. 

What a mysterious thing is sleep ? The prostrator 
of strength, the paralyzer of intellect, the arrester of en- 
terprize, and yet the promoter and invigorator of them 
all. 

At this moment, the machinery of society, in the 
principle of its power and the mightiness of its opera- 
tions, is apparently standing still. The houses of lords 
and commons are empty. Downing-street is tranquil. 
The halls of Westminster are silent. The Bank is 
closed. The place where merchants meet is lonely as 



276 THE RIVER THAMES, THE BRIDGES, 

a desert, and the marts of traffic and the public streets 
are forsaken. 

In a few short hours, what a world of energ-y will 
be aroused ! The bright eye, the nimble foot, the 
ready hand, the quick intellect, will all be set in motion ; 
and man, forgetful for the most part of eternity, will 
pursue, with all the faculties of his body, soul, and 
spirit, the perishable possessions which, if obtained, he 
can only enjoy for a few years, and perhaps not for a 
single hour. 

The heavens to the eastward are growing a little 
lighter, and things before invisible are faintly seen. 
Southwark bridge and its reflection in the water are 
both of an equal, strength in depth of shadow. I can 
now see the huge shoulders of St. Paul's cathedral, for 
the building holds up its head above the surrounding- 
churches, as Saul did when standing among his breth- 
ren. The Monument, and the church spire on this 
side of it, appear of the same height from the bridge. 
Objects are now visible, yet not defined ; they have no 
outline. There is a dimness, a dusky shadowy blend- 
ing of one thing with another, that leaves me in doubt 
whether they really are what I take them to be. " An 
image is before my eyes, it stands still, but I cannot 
discern the form thereof" 

The Tower is now discernible, and more vessels 
are seen on the river. How gradually docs the dawn 
dissipate the darkness, bringing order out of chaos, and 
beauty out of shadowy indistinctness ! 

The captive, long confined in his prison house, 
amuses, or rather occupies himself with its individuali- 
ties ; he counts the iron bars of his window, and the 
Knobs of iron on the door of his dungeon ; he mea- 



AND THE THAMES TUNNEL. 277 

sures tlie height, the length, and breadth of his cell ; 
every crack in the walls, ever crevice in the floor is 
regarded till it becomes familiar. And I, in pacing 
this bridge backwards and forwards, have unconsciously 
employed myself in a similar manner ; the length and 
breadth of the broad granite stones ; the height of the 
parapet ; the number of the recesses and stone benches, 
and other matters of little importance, have occupied 
my attention. The gas-lights of the bridge are double, 
but those in the centre of the building are treble. A 
man is now extinguishing the lights ; he does it in a 
leisurely manner, and moves not with the accustomed 
merry run of the lamplighter, I will walk towards 
Guy's Hospital. 

The placards on the walls, mingling together their 
varied colours of red, blue, yellow, and white, have, by 
gaslight, an odd, yet not inharmonious effect on the eye 
at a given distance. I must approach them nearer. 
The Flower Show — The Panorama of Damascus — 
Three Sermons at the Episcopal Chapel — Zoological 
Gardens and Fireworks — Steam packet to Havre — - 
Cowan's Canton Strop — and the Eastern Counties 
Railway — are among the most conspicuous. Had 1 
any desire for a morning dram, it might easily be gra- 
tified, for here is a gin shop already open. It grows a 
little lighter. 

I have passed by St. Thomas's, and yonder is Guy's 
Hospital, where many a weary, yet wakeful eye drinks 
in greedily the first appearance of the dawn. There 
many '^^ afflicted invalid, notwithstanding all that skill 
and kindness can do for him, is weary with his groan- 
ing, all the night long making his bed to swim, water- 
ing his couch with his tears. Was I now to cry aloud, 
24 



278 THE RIVER THAMES, THE BRIDGES, 

*' Watchman ! what of the night ? Watchman ! what 
of the night ?" What an answer might be given 
me, could the aching head, the throbbing pulse, the 
fevered lip, and the agonizing limb make their reply. 
Surely I should not pass the walls of an hospital with- 
out prayer for the afflicted, and praise for the blessing 
of health. The clocks are striking five. 

Here comes a stage coach with passengers, in their 
caps, great coats, and handkerchiefs ; the guard in his 
white hat, and the coachman with a green comforter 
round his neck are quite in character ; but not so the 
lamps of the coach, they are still lighted, and look 
strange in the grey of the morning. Yonder, under a 
gateway, stands a young woman with her box and 
bundle, waiting for the van ; a cart is passing by laden 
with calves that low in a melancholy manner ; and a 
bill poster is entering on his morning occupation. 

I have passed opposite St. Saviour's church, turned 
towards the station of the Greenwich and Croydon rail- 
way, and am looking over into the burying-ground, 
where some threescore grave-stones are visible. 

Though strong to run his heavenly course. 

The sun in glory rise ; 
How soon, alas ! his parting beam 
Forsakes the western skies. 

So man, exulting, thoushtless man ! 

Breaks through the glare and gloom 
That mark his little earthly hour, 

Then drops into the tomb. 

I see something stirring inside the iron rails that sui- 
round a monument. Now it stands upright ; it is a goat 
with a long beard ; he has passed the night, like a soli- 
tary hermit, among the tombs. Not a sound is heard on 
the railway, though an increased rumble reaches the 



AND THE THAMES TUNNEL. 279 

ear from the streets. I will once more walk upon the 
bridge. 

The wind is in the south, and the sooty breath of the 
foul-mouthed chimneys, on the banks of the river, is 
spreading itself over the city ; clouds of thick black 
smoke are rolling their burden on the breeze. St. 
Paul's is so surrounded with smoke, that imagination 
might suppose it about to burst into a flame. The water 
is covered with dimples unusually small ; not glittering, 
as when lit up by the sun or moon, but faintly visible, 
just giving back the light of dawn. I can now see the 
casks, the crates, the sacks, the cases, the bales and 
packages on the wharfs and in the vessels : not a boat 
is yet moving on the river. 

Sounds have greatly increased, and the bridge has 
gradually been peopled with passengers, market gar- 
deners with carts of fruit or vegetables ; butchers with 
their supplies of meat ; men and women with their bun- 
dles, a dozen together in a throng, leaving London ; and 
early workmen going to their labour. Coal wagons 
are passing, and now and then a brewer's dray, the 
driver's whip ferruled with brass from top to bottom. 
Girls with their milk cans, and postmen with their let- 
ter bags in their hands, and a gilt band round their hats, 
are hastening onwards. Ginger beer carts are pushed 
along by their several owners ; bakers with bread, and 
boys with buns before them, accost each other ; and at 
this moment a flock of sheep has nearly covered the en- 
trance of the bridge. 

London is now awaking ! cabs begin to move ; 
coaches, carts, and wagons increase, and the rumble of 
wheels, the jingling of chains and traces, the trampling 
of horses, the footfall of passengers, and the hum of dis- 



280 THE RIVER THAMES, THE BRIDGES, 

tani sounds^ are mingling together in one perpetual din. 
A boat, with oars, is now going down the river ; and 
here comes an empty steamer. 

In the east, the sky is brightening, and now I might 
indulge the description of a glorious sunrise, arraying 
the earth and the heavens with kindling azure, and with 
glowing gold ; but were I to do this, it would be de- 
parting from the scene before me ; it would be indulg- 
ing my fancy at the expense of truth. There are in 
the east no glittering beams of living light, no floods of 
molten gold, and therefore I will not falsify the dull and 
monotonous appearance of the heavens. 

A traveller is going out of town in his gig. He looks 
like a man equipped for business, and seems likely to 
see the Land's End before he returns. A soldier is 
passing by carrying an umbrella, an article that, in his 
hand, seems a little out of character. Haifa dozen men, 
with short pipes in their mouths, and a kind of wallet 
on their backs, are going one way, and a party of mu- 
latto seamen, in blue check shirts, white trowsers, and 
oilcase caps, are proceeding another. Here is a man 
with rabbits on a pole, half before and half behind him ; 
and there is a fat gentleman, up to his knees in high- 
topped boots, carrying his great coat on his arm, strid- 
ing along with the hope of being in time for the coach, 
while a weasel-faced stripling, heavily laden with a 
trunk, is making the best of his way after him. There 
go the strcetkeepers and the policemen off duty, right 
glad to hear the clock strike six. 

How much might be said about the striking of a 
clock, and of its varied influence among mankind, ac- 
cording to the several positions and circumstances in 
which they are found. In the dark and silent season 



AND THE THAMES TUNNEL. 281 

of night, it has an unusual solemnity. He who has 
heard a clock strike one, when in a country church- 
yard, with the stars over his head, will fully understand 
me. 

I can now see clearly the objects around. The Cus- 
tom house is one of the most striking. The Tower is 
another, with Fishmongers' hall : Nicholson's bonded 
warehouse ; the shipping and steam packets in the ri- 
ver ; the dark tower of St. Saviour's church yonder, 
and especially the cathedral of St. Paul's. The tide is 
coming in. 

The Thames is a noble river. It does not equal, it 
is true, in magnitude, the Amazon, the Mississippi, the 
Nile, the Burrampooter, the Ganges, the Gambia, the 
Danube, the St. Lawrence, the Rhine, and some others ; 
but take it with its amount of shipping and merchan- 
dize, and it stands the first in the world. 

A thousand ships are sometimes moored in the Pool, 
presenting a forest of masts to the spectator's eye. Un- 
der what ditferent aspects may the river be contempla- 
ted ! The Roman, the Dane, the Saxon, and the Nor- 
man, at different times, have crossed it, or sailed up its 
goodly stream. Kings have sailed sumptuously on its 
flowing waters. Royal brides have been borne upon 
its gilt-prowed barges, gorgeous with flags, pennons, 
and silken streamers, to the royal residence in the Tow- 
er. Prisoners have been conveyed at midnight along' 
the sil'^nt waters to Traitor's gate, to return no more. 
Lord Mayors have vied with each other in covering 
the stream with magnificent pageants of yachts and 
barges, in their visit to and return from Westminster on 
the day of their installation to oflice ; and, in winter, 
h'lTS have been held on its frozen surface. 
24* 



282 THE RIVER THAMES, THE BRIDGES, 

But if the rivr.T has presented changes to the eye, so 
have its banks. How different was the view fr^m this 
place three hundred years ago, when the old Gothic 
cathedral of St. Paul's was standing ; when the houses 
of the narrow streets were decorated with fanciful ga- 
bles, ornamental vanes, and tall twisted chimneys. The 
banks of the river are not now adorned with goodly 
gardens and stately palaces. The sombre towers of 
Baynard's castle, and the proud turrets of Durham- 
house, are gone. The old palace of Bridewell is no 
longer seen. The ancient bridge, gatewayed, towered, 
and drawbridged as it was, with its chapel, its mills, 
and houses, is a thing chronicled in records which are 
already moth-eaten. 

The first bridge of which we read, as occupying this 
place, was built by the monks of St. Mary Overs, some 
eight or nine hundred years ago. Peter of Colechurch, 
in 11 26, began to build a stone bridge ] and as the funds 
were supplied by a tax on wool, a saying has since 
risen, " London-bridge was built upon woolsacks." Pe- 
ter was buried in a chapel constructed in the centre pier. 
Houses and shops overhung the bridge behind. It had 
gates, and towers, and a drawbridge in one of the arches, 
which was raised when vessels had to pass. 

This bridge is associated with many occurrences of 
history. Here David, earl of Crawford, of Scotland, 
successfully contended for three days in a grand joust 
against lord Wells of England. Here was the prior of 
Tiptree, in Essex, with nine other persons, crushed to 
death in the crowd, while witnessing the public entry 
of Richard ii. and his youthful queen. When Henry v. 
returned victorious from Agincourt, a grand pageant 
was given on the bridge. Here sir Matthew Gough 



AND THE THAMES TUNNEL. 283 

and the citizens of London had a conflict with Jack 
Cade, the rebel ; and here was the entrance of sir 
Thomas Wyat arrested during the insurrection against 
queen Mary. 

At the Southwark end of the bridge stood Traitor's 
gate, on which, in the reign of the Tudors, thirty heads 
might have been counted of such as had been executed 
for high treason ! In the reign of Elizabeth, stately 
houses were erected on both sides of the bridge, for the 
old houses had been destroyed by fire, and the place 
resembled a little city. The great fire of 1666 again 
cleared away the houses, which were once more re- 
built. Hans Holbein, the celebrated painter, once lived 
on the bridge, and honest John Bunyan, author of" Pil- 
grim's Progress." Nonsuch-house also stood on the 
bridge. It was a wooden fabric, four stories high, con- 
structed in Holland, and brought over to England. Not 
a single nail was required in setting it up, being entirely 
fastened together with wooden pegs. At each corner it 
had a wooden tower. 

The first stone of the present London-bridge was laid 
in the year 1825. The edifice is an admirable one. 
The simplicity of the architecture, the boldness of the 
arches, the massive solidity of the piers and parapets, 
and the noble and majestic appearance of the whole, 
challenge admiration. The stones used in the building 
are, the purple Aberdeen, the light grey Devonshire 
Haytor, and the red brown granite of Peterhead. How 
many joyous and exulting spirits, how many weary feet 
and aching hearts, will pass over it, before the shadows 
of evening prevail ! 

Southwark bridge yonder, or, as it is often called, the 
Iron-bridge, is an elegant erection. Three cast-iron 



284 THE RIVER THAMES, THE BRIDGES, 

arches, resting on massive stone piers, span the who.e 
breadth of the river. The centre arch includes a space 
of two hundred and forty feet, being nearly forty feet 
more than the height of the Monument. The amount 
of metal required for the construction of this bridge was 
above five thousand tons. 

Waterloo-bridge, a beautiful structure, which has the 
credit of being considered the longest stone bridge in Eu- 
rope, is perfectly level. Half a million of money was 
expended in its erection, and a still larger amount in the 
approaches to it. It was named after the famous battle 
of Waterloo, and was first opened on the anniversary 
of that memorable conflict. 

The bridge of Blackfriars is named from a convent 
of black friars, which once stood in its neighborhood. 
To say nothing of coaches, carriages, omnibusses, wag- 
ons, vans, carts, gigs, and horses, not less than sixty 
thousand passengers are said to cross the bridge during 
the day. 

Besides the suspension bridge at Hammersmith, there 
are Westminster, Vauxhall, Battersea, Fulham, Kew, 
Kingston, Hampton Court, Richmond, and Walton- 
bridges. But I have now written enough on this sub- 
ject. The sun is breaking out over the Tower, and the 
day promises fair. I have swallowed fog enough this 
morning for a month. Who would have thought that 
sucha watery looking sky would so soon have cleared up? 

Yet, oft amid the murky shroud 

The sunbeam wins its way, 
And breaking from the thunder cloud, 

Proclaims a goodly day ! 

And often, too, with waving wings, 

When judgments seem to roll, 
Mercy tlies kindly forth, and fling* 

A eunbeam on the aoul \ 



AND THE THAMES TUNNEL. 285 

A few hours are passed, and the king of day is mid- 
way on his journey to the south. I am now standing 
in the Thames Tunnel, more than seventy feet below 
high water mark. The deep descent, the lengthened 
arches, the retiredness of the place, the line of lamps, 
and the knowledge that the river is rolling over-head, 
altogether impart a novelty of feeling. There is a 
little of romance in the whole that gives an interest to 
every thing I gaze on. 

Years ago I was cooped up in this place with a prin- 
cess ; yes. Old Humphrey was standing on the same 
plank with the grand duchess Helene, sistei* to the em- 
peror of all the Russias, who happened to visit the 
Tunnel when he was here. Had she been a peasant 
instead of a princess, this record of the event had never 
been made. What trifling circumstances puff up the 
heart ! 

While standing here, three or four timorous visitors 
have hurried past me, in evident apprehension, lest the 
vaulted roo^ n) nve them should give way, and let the 
Thamec vmc :nc iaii.:.t.i. Th^^ro '.bey go, as though 
they were escaping for their lives. 

This e^:cavation is a wondrous enterprise. Bold in 
its design, and difficult in its execution. Accidents 
have occurred, lives have been lost, and seemingly in- 
surmountable impediments have presented themselves, 
but untiring perseverance has won its way through 
every difficulty. The Thames Tunnel, when com- 
pleted, will not only be an important channel of com- 
munication between the two sides of the river, over 
which a bridge could not have been built at this point, 
without great difficulty, but, also, a triumphal arch 
commemorating the success of enterprise, resolution. 



286 THE RIVER THAMES, THE BRIDGES; ETC. 

skill, and perseverence, and commanding the admira 
iion of the world, 

I will now make the best of my way up the shaft, oi 
spiral staircase, by which I descended, for my walks 
for the present must be brought to a close. London, 
the goodliest city beneath the stars, has yielded me 
much of pleasure. Peace to her walls and prosperity 
to her palaces ! May her people, and the stranger 
within her gates, while here, be defended evermore 
from evil by the arm of the Eternal, and afterwards 
become inhabitants of the golden city, to behold and to 
share the giory of the Redeemer. 



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